


Dawn of Aquarius

by nastally



Series: Dawn of Aquarius [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Anal Sex, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Casual Racism, Cheating, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Domestic Violence, Doomed Relationship, Early Days, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heartbreak, I said I would never write RPF, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, Light BDSM, London, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, Rock and Roll, Smut, Swearing, but here we are, fashion baby, freddie bulsara, freddie just being freddie, kensington market stall, pansexuality, so much smoking, this is slow burn in my book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 223,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally
Summary: Cover art by Jade ( https://instagram.com/the_clog_factory )In 1969, Roger Taylor and Freddie Bulsara open a stall together in Kensington Market. This is their story.- - -Reviews:"This is a masterpiece. Just a brilliant, beautiful masterpiece.""Very well written, a fantastic build up and characterisation.""Wow, wow and wow again. This work, as I said many times before, is brilliant, in every single way.""I LOVE this series so damn much oh my lord.""This is my favorite fanfic of them out there.""You continue to outdo yourself and I remain in awe.""I love your Freddie more than I can actually put into words.""I could read this fic for the rest of my life.""I love this fic more than I love myself tbh."





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen.
> 
> I swore I would never write RPF. But then I watched Bohemian Rhapsody and became obsessed with Queen. So here we are. I'm sorry, Freddie.
> 
> Having said that, I've seen a lot of (very lovely) fics around which don't really dig into the taboo of being queer in the 60s/70s much and simply portray Freddie as a confident gay man from early on, nor mention the fact that Freddie obviously spent many years struggling with his sexuality, and so I wanted to do that justice. (I only understood aged 30 that I was pansexual, so I feel you, Fred.) Also, Roger Taylor was cute af and I adore the fact that their stall in Kensington was referred to as a closet for being so small. They literally spent a good portion of time in the closet together.
> 
> I haven't read all the biographies and all the interviews (EDIT: I have now read on of Mercury's biographies), and this is obviously fiction, but I will say that I am trying to keep it as close to actual real events, people and accounts as possible, only filling in made up details where I just don't have a clue what the real situation was. I want this to read like something that feels so believable, you'll begin to think it could have totally happened. That's my goal, anyway.
> 
> Mature rating because I know future chapters will definitely go there. Starts with Roger's POV but will change back and forth over the coming chapters.
> 
> EDIT: There is a playlist to go along with this fic now. If you're interested, you can find it here on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/1115228922/playlist/5oddBUhHFcvwSXDPaeF0m3?si=86FlcDs6QGGelWk1XeqOkQ

_"About 1969, I opened a stall in Kensington Market, which was one of the hippest places in London. I used to run it with this bloke, Freddie. Back then, I didn’t really know him as a singer — he was just my mate. My crazy mate!"_ \- Roger Taylor

\- - -

If there was one thing Roger was certain about, it was the fact that he liked girls. He liked girls very much.  
He liked their soft curves, their coquettish laughter, their fluttering eyelashes and their sweet scent. He wanted them, needed them, worshipped them; the most beautiful creatures on God's green earth.

He liked winning them over, kissing them, holding them and, frankly, making them moan his name in the throes of pleasure. Because if there was another thing Roger was quite certain about, it was the fact that he _loved_ sex.  
By the time he was nineteen, his natural charisma and handsome features had greatly aided him in accumulating more experience in that department than most of his peers, and being a very typical nineteen-year-old, he was quick to brag about it, too. 

The uncertainty crept in, hitting him completely out of left field and shaking the very foundation of his self-image, when he met and befriended an unusual young man who quickly became one of his best friends. Because if there was one more thing Roger was very certain about, it was that he really liked Fred Bulsara. 

However, at first, nothing made sense. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sensation both new and very familiar as they began to spend more time together. It was a rather wonderful feeling, almost a sort of buzz, and for the longest time Roger couldn't put his finger on it. For the longest time, he thought nothing of it. He explained it away with the fact that they got on like a house on fire, and he was simply happy to spend time with a kindred spirit. And yet, he eventually had to admit to himself that he didn't feel this way around Brian or Tim, or any of his other mates, for that matter. There was something different about Fred, or Freddie, as he liked to be called; Roger couldn't put his finger on it. 

Freddie had an interesting habit of calling people 'dear' and 'darling', something that should have sounded off, but coming from him, it didn't. It was just... Freddie.  
Freddie the enigma. Freddie the walking juxtaposition. Painfully insecure one moment, and the exuberant life of the party the next, he was somehow both flamboyant and timid. People took to him easily and seemed charmed by his idiosyncrasies. There was grace in his demeanor and theatricality in his movements; there was an endearing touch of softness about him. From his thick, dark lashes, slight frame and full lips, to his long elegant fingers, Freddie was not what anyone would have called a man's man. Then again, Roger reasoned, neither was he. If he had a shilling for every time someone had questioned his masculinity or called him a bender over his own appearance or dress sense, he'd be rolling in it by now. Maybe that was just one of the things they had in common? Roger couldn't care less that some poor jealous sods at Kensington Market had taken to calling them a pair of queens behind their backs. Their stall was top notch and they were making bank (well, sometimes), all because they happened to have great fashion sense. It didn't mean either of them was bent.  
In fact, Roger knew Freddie liked girls. They talked about girls all the time. They'd spent many an interesting afternoon spying on unsuspecting girls changing through the makeshift periscope in their stall. He was sure he'd seen Freddie copping off with girls a couple of times, when they'd gone out drinking.

Those were all the things Roger was certain of. All the things he thought he knew. Until one rainy Saturday afternoon. 

April was doing its reputation proud. The morning had been intermittently sunny, clouds chasing each other across the sky. The wind howled, tearing at his coat and relentlessly blowing his bangs into his face while he stood at the corner waiting. As per usual, Freddie was late, but when he bounded up to him with a big smile on his face and crumpets in a paper bag, Roger wasn't about to complain. His diet had very much taken a turn for the absolute worst since he'd moved out from home, much to his mother's chagrin. She never shut up anymore about how skinny he was getting. To be fair, all he'd had for breakfast that morning was half a stale sausage roll. They made their way up to their stall at Kensington Market together, struggling to keep a match lit long enough to light a fag and joking about being swept off to Oz if the wind picked up any more, resulting in a Dorothy impression from Freddie which sent Roger into hysterics.  
The morning went by quickly. It always did, with Freddie. They never seemed to run out of things to talk or laugh about, and somehow usually managed to sell a few things in the process.  
By early afternoon, they decided to close up shop for a bit and go for lunch. There was finally a hint of spring in the air, after the long, dreary winter. And even though the wind was still going strong, the sun seemed to be trying its hardest to break through the clouds. Feeling cheerful and at one with the world, Roger thought it would be a good idea to grab something to go and sit in Hyde Park. It seemed like a fine plan.

However, he came to regret it almost immediately. No sooner had they settled down in the grass than the weather took a turn for the worse. The heavens opened almost without warning. 

"Ah, shit," Roger half laughed, half groaned, stuffing the takeaway bag inside his jacket as he got back up on his feet. "Shall we make a run for it, back to the shop?" 

Freddie craned his neck in the general direction of Kensington High Street, then grimaced at Roger. "We'll be soaked by the time we get there." 

"We're getting soaked either way!" Roger argued, pulling his light jacket tighter around himself. He had optimistically dressed for spring. Clearly a mistake. The wind was cold and unforgiving now, and the rain was getting progressively worse by the minute. 

"I suppose," Freddie conceded, and they took off running. 

They left the park and reached the road, heading for the first awning they saw to take shelter, and just in time, too. The rain lashing down around them grew louder as large raindrops battered the pavement. In fact, those weren't raindrops at all. It was hailing.  
Lightning tore across the sky, closely followed by a clout of thunder that set Roger's teeth on edge. It felt as if the storm was right on top of them. 

"Fuck me!" Roger exclaimed, scooting further back to evade the hail stones bouncing off the pavement every which way. 

Freddie shot him a crooked, toothy grin while also pressing himself flush against the shop window. "Buy me a drink first, darling!" 

Roger did a double take, caught on, and slapped his arm with a grin. "Piss off, Fred." The rain-turned-hail was near horizontal due to the strong wind, and there was really no escaping it. "Let's go, we're almost there anyway!" Roger shouted over the noise of the storm. 

Freddie nodded and they ran back out into the near apocalyptic downpour, reaching the market a few doors down and squeezing past a crowd of people gathered just inside the doorway.

"I'm fucking _drenched_ ," Freddie complained as they climbed the stairs, shaking hail stones out of their hair. 

"I'm fucking freezing," Roger grumbled, and bemoaned the saddest part of their misadventure, his tone tinged with true despair: "And my pasty's gone all soggy!" 

Freddie rolled his eyes at him as he unlocked their stall. "Just so you know, dear, I've got water in my shoes. But clearly there's _nothing_ worse than a soggy pasty." 

"Bloody right there's not!" Roger huffed. He was a Cornwall lad, after all. Pasties were his soul food. 

"My samosa's probably wet, too, but do you hear me whining about it?" 

" _Clearly_ you've never had to eat a soggy pasty," Roger muttered as they stumbled into the darkness of the musty stall, shutting the door behind them. Freddie felt around for the fairy lights decorating one side of their very own fashion realm and plugged them in. A soft glow illuminated the tiny room.

Roger kicked off his shoes and took a bite of his pasty. Soggy or not, he was starving. Maybe his mum had a point. Meanwhile Fred had put his food aside and made a show of wringing out his hair. Then he chuckled, hands on his hips, and gave a small shrug. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm going to take my clothes off." 

"Yeah," Roger simply replied, brushing wet strands of hair out of his face and tucking into his food. "Go for it." He was shivering and dripping onto the floor, and planned to do the same as soon as he had a few bites in him. Lucky for them, it wasn't as if there was any shortage of dry clothes to choose from. 

As he watched Freddie shrug off his jacket and peel off his shirt, Roger realised he'd never actually seen him without his shirt on before. Which was hardly surprising, given that they had only met a few months ago, in the middle of winter. 

"Crikey, you're hairy," he commented, not really thinking. In his mind, he was merely drawing a comparison to his own three measly chest hairs. Freddie looked up, and then down at himself, running his hand over his torso awkwardly. "Yeah..." 

Roger kicked himself. It was hard to remember how insecure Fred could get at times, but he was beginning to notice those little moments the longer he knew him. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I said that," he offered apologetically and put his pasty aside, starting on his own clothes. "I don't think I could grow chest hair to save my life. See?" 

He tossed his wet shirt aside and puffed out his smooth, bare chest, pummelling it with both fists. "Like a baby's bottom!" 

Freddie chuckled at that and Roger gave him a shrug and a grin, then turned his attention to his trousers and socks.

"Bloody hell, it's like we went for a swim." 

Discarding the rest of his clothes, bar his underwear, in a damp heap in the corner, Roger looked up and stopped in his tracks, mouth slightly agape. Then he burst out laughing. 

Freddie had squeezed himself into a tight pair of black satin bell bottom trousers and was sporting a large fur coat, but not much else. He promptly dipped down into a rather theatrical sort of bow, coming back up with a toss of his hair and gesturing to his choice of outfit. "What do you think?" 

Roger snorted. "Nice, Fred. I'll give you a pound if you go down the pub like that later." 

"Ooh, well, maybe I will, dear." Freddie said airily, admiring himself in the mirror before he moved to sit down against the back wall with his takeaway bag. 

Both of them knew he wasn't going to go through with it, of course. Although truth be told, Roger thought he suited that outrageous outfit better than anyone had any business suiting it. 

Meanwhile, he grabbed a pair of jeans that ended up too big on him and pulled on a yellow woolly jumper, lowering himself onto the floor next to his friend.  
The faint sounds of rain and thunder could be heard even inside the market. It sounded like the world was ending out there, and here they were, two lone survivors in a closet. Eating soggy lunch. It was strangely cozy, although Roger was beginning to question his own choice of clothes. Warm as it was, this jumper was awfully itchy. 

"Fred?"

"Hm?" Freddie was absentmindedly scratching the tip of his nose as he chewed and turned to look at him again, eyebrows raised.

"D'you want to come down to my parents' house next weekend? Mum's invited you," he shrugged, "if you like."

Inviting your grown up friend over for a sleepover was a little awkward. Was it awkward? Freddie was three years his senior, and for a moment he wondered if he'd suggested something entirely inappropriate and childish. But then Freddie smiled, eyes gleaming in the dim light. 

"Sure," he nodded, and Roger exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I'd like that."

"Alright," Roger grinned, "it's a plan then." 

"It's a plan." Freddie repeated, still smiling. "That's nice of your mum, give her my regards."

Roger snorted, swallowing a bite before he replied. "Yeah, right. She's dying to meet you 'cause she wants to make sure I'm not, I dunno, _associating_ with the wrong sort or something."

"Oh, don't worry, dear. She'll adore me!" Freddie declared with panache and immediately laughed at his own overly confident tone, covering his mouth with one hand as had a habit of doing.

"Yeah, she will." Roger agreed, although he honestly couldn't care less either way. He was much more preoccupied with the idea that they were going to spend the whole weekend together. Doing what exactly, he didn't have a clue. But whenever Fred was involved, there was usually fun to be had and he was already excited for it. That is to say, he was a grown man, very much looking forward to his very grown up manly sleepover.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant thunderstorm and finishing their food. Roger had to stop and scratch at various parts of his torso, shifting uncomfortably, while Freddie finished first and sat quite still, his arms atop his knees, absentmindedly blowing at the sleeves of his coat and watching the fur move. Neither of them was in any rush to reopen the stall just yet. 

"Reminds me of school, this." Freddie murmured after a while, with a hint of a smile.

Not entirely sure he had heard him right, Roger glanced over at him and frowned. "What? Why?"

"Well, you know," stroking the sleeve of his coat with his fingertips, Freddie spoke softly as though he was mostly talking to himself. "hiding away in stuffy places like this to..." He trailed off mid-sentence, checked himself, and looked up at Roger. "Didn't you say you went to boarding school?" he asked.

"Uh, not really." Roger went to wipe his hands on his trousers, realised they weren't actually his, and proceeded to lick his fingers one by one instead as he spoke. "I mean. It was a boarding school. But I didn't board. For the most part. Cause I lived close enough."

"Oh." Came the reply and Freddie turned away, leaving Roger more confused than before.

"So wait," he tried to catch his friend's eye again. "why were you sitting around in cupboards at boarding school?"

Freddie chuckled quietly, brushing his dark hair into his face and playing with a few curly strands. "I wasn't- Nevermind."

But Roger did mind. It felt like there was a story there, and now he wanted to know. He leaned over and nudged Freddie's shoulder with his own. "Oi. Go on, tell me."

"Well-" Freddie huffed quietly, shook his hair out of his face and moved to sit cross-legged, tilting his head back against the wall. "You know." His eyes were trained on a bunch of multi-coloured ties hanging in the corner, hands folded in his lap. "If you wanted to sneak off somewhere... private... with someone. It was usually places like this."

Roger's eyebows unknotted and raised slowly as it started to dawn on him. 

"Oh...!" he broke into a grin, wondering what the big deal was. He'd made out with a girl in a broom closet once at the Christian youth community centre back in Truro. "Nice!" he snickered, and then added, almost without thinking: "Wait, didn't you go to an all boys school though?"

"I did." 

"Then how'd you..." 

Freddie gave Roger a pointed look. There was a brief pause as the penny dropped, and Roger realised that his face must have dropped, too, when he finally _fully_ understood just what Fred was talking about. Freddie lowered his eyes and turned away, and Roger immediately felt sorry, but didn't know what to say. Had he looked shocked? Disgusted? He hadn't meant to. 

"Right." Was all he managed to mutter, after a moment. The silence that followed felt oppressive. 

It was Freddie who broke it, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic hint of trepidation. "I mean, it wasn't like- it wasn't-", he cleared his throat, staring down into his lap. "I didn't-"

Fred could be shy, Roger knew that, but the two of them had hit it off almost immediately when they first met and he wasn't used to Freddie being anything but loud, outgoing and endearingly obnoxious around him. Roger had never seen him like _this_ before, so guarded, almost panicked, really. And he didn't like it one bit. 'Shit', he thought, 'I really need to say something to make it alright.' 

"I don't care." Roger blurted out. "I mean. I don't mind?"

Freddie stopped trying to get the words out and carefully lifted his eyes to meet Roger's again.

"I don't care about that." Roger assured him, trying to sound nonchalant. And he didn't, he thought. Why should he care if Fred had snogged a bloke or two in school? What was the big deal, anyway? It had just come as a surprise, that's all. He'd never really thought about two blokes kissing before, and had lived his life happily assuming that it was just the sort of thing that other people got up to. Not people he knew. No one ever talked about it. Not seriously. Although come to think of it, Roger remembered, he _had_ seen two girls kiss at a party once and that had been pretty hot to watch. It wasn't quite the same though. Or was it? His eyes wandered down to Freddie's lips and heat rose to his cheeks. At the memory of those two girls, of course. Yes, that. He just happened to be staring at Freddie because, well, he was right there, talking about kissing, and his lips looked so soft. 

"I'm not a poof." Freddie said quietly, defensively, snapping Roger out of his reverie. 

Roger met his eyes again and frowned as if to say 'well, obviously'. 

"I know."

"People say things about me, but-"

"Fuck 'em." Roger cut him off, offering a tentative grin. "I don't care what anyone says about you, or me. Who cares, right? They're just jealous cause we can get more tail in a week than any of them can all year round."

He held up his hand and Freddie chuckled, high-fived him, then shook his head, instinctively pulling his top lip over his teeth to hide his smile. "Right."

At least he _was_ smiling again and Roger felt relieved. 

There was another brief silence, before they spoke up at the exact same time.

"It was just-", started Freddie.

"What's it like-", said Roger, then stopped and gestured for Freddie to go first. The tension had dissipated and he was extremely glad of it.

"It was just... practice, anyway.", the older man said, in that same apologetic tone, albeit no longer sounding so terrified. "There weren't any girls around."

"Yeah, I get it." Roger nodded encouragingly, he really didn't think Freddie had anything to be apologetic about. Who knew, maybe he'd have done the same, locked up in boarding school with only boys all through high school. Maybe that sort of thing was going on at his school, too, and he'd just never known. There had been rumours, of course. He'd just never paid much attention to them. 

"What were you going to say?" Freddie wondered. 

"Oh." Roger grinned and bit his lip. "Um. So what's it like then? Kissing a bloke?"

Now it was Freddie's turn to gape at him, eyes wide. Clearly, he hadn't expected Roger to become so comfortable with the idea so quickly. Maybe past experiences had been different. Roger could only imagine. He could think of a fair few people who might've thrown a punch if Fred had admitted to them what he had just admitted to him. But those people were idiots, Roger figured. The more he thought about it, the less Freddie's confession fazed him.

"Not much different." Freddie replied with a coquettish sort of shrug, then raised an eyebrow. "Why, would you like to find out, dear?"

Comfortable or not, Roger balked at the suggestion. "Uh, no thanks! I'm good." 

"Your loss. I'm a very good kisser." Freddie informed him, peering up from beneath his lashes at him in a mock flirtatious manner. Something inside the younger man's chest tightened, but not unpleasantly so. 

"Uhh..."

"Relax, I'm not serious!" Freddie laughed and dropped the act, shoving him playfully. 

"Yeah," Roger was laughing, too, but didn't quite meet his friend's eye. "I mean, I like you, Fred, but I don't fancy you. No offence." 

"None taken, I don't fancy you either." Freddie was very quick to assure him.

Having shaken the strange feeling that had momentarily overcome him, Roger smirked. "Then again, if you grew a pair of tits..."

Freddie spluttered with laughter. "What?!" 

"Yeah, like a nice, big 'ol pair," Roger continued, pretending to squeeze an imaginary pair of breasts in front of him while feigning a serious tone. "I reckon I could be convinced." 

"Knock it off!" Freddie reached for a shoe and whacked him with it, all the while snorting with laughter. 

"You started it, you pervert! Talking about- ow- getting off in cupboards-" Roger teased and regretted it immediately. "Ow, OW! Enough, you nutter!" 

He got a hold of Freddie's wrist and yanked him towards himself hard, and then everything happened very quickly. Freddie yelped and toppled into his lap, Roger exclaimed a victorious 'haHA' and wrestled the shoe from him, and then a bright idea struck the younger man. He leaned over and slapped Freddie across the ass with the shoe, perhaps a bit harder than intended. All that wouldn't have been so bad, if it hadn't been for the noise Freddie made. The dark-haired man squirmed in his lap, letting out a high-pitched squeal and sucking in his breath through his teeth. It was a noise that had no business being so accidentally _erotic_ , so borderline obscene. It sent a shiver down Roger's spine and flooded the pit of his stomach with the all-too-familiar tingling warmth of excitement. Suddenly, he was keenly aware of Freddie's warm body draped over his lap, and panic took a hold of him with a vice-like grip. 

He dropped the shoe and pushed the other man off him, profusely thankful for the dim light because he could _feel_ himself blushing. 

To his relief, Freddie didn't seem to have caught on. He rolled off him, giggling like a maniac and simply pulled himself back up into a sitting position, finally settling back down next to Roger with a sigh. 

"Well, this has been fun, but we should probably get back to work," Fred said after a while, and attempted a stretch, which was a challenge, given the limited space he had for his long limbs. "After I have a ciggie. Are you coming?" 

At last, he seemed to take note of Roger's silence and gave him a curious sideways glance. 

"Rog?" 

"Huh?" 

"What are you thinking about, dear?" 

Roger looked up hesitantly and blinked, before turning away. 

"Tits." He lied lamely. It was the first thing that came to mind. What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, I'm just thinking about how I got turned on just now because you lay on my lap and squealed like a girl'? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Freddie rolling his eyes. 

"And I'm the pervert", he scoffed and got to his feet, picking up his discarded trousers to look for his cigarettes and grimacing as he slipped his wet shoes back on. Then he pushed one of the doors open and turned back, realising that the younger man hadn't moved. "Aren't you coming?" 

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, hold on." Roger stood up and squinted against the light falling in, taking in the sight of the other man. His skinny frame was drowning in the large fur coat, but somehow the opulence of it suited him. Only Freddie could pull off a look like that. The coat hung open, framing his naked torso. His tousled hair was still damp, messy curls accentuating his angular face. He looked bohemian, and beautiful. Roger looked down at his feet. 

"Actually, shit. I- I forgot." He quickly reached for his damp pair of jeans, changing back into them as he spoke, along with his wet socks and shoes. "I'm really sorry, but I have to head off early? There's an, uh, an exam on Monday and I need to, you know. I need to brush up on my stuff. So I should probably go."

"Oh." The disappointment in Fred's voice was palpable. He seemed to shrink inside the oversized coat, radiance turning to awkwardness. "Alright."

"Sorry." Roger repeated, utterly bewildered by his own decision to lie to his friend and leave him hanging like that. But he couldn't think straight and felt like he needed to get out before - well, he didn't know what exactly. He just needed to get out. 

"Don't worry about it." Freddie said quietly, 

"Yeah, sorry, I literally just remembered," Roger tried to sound as cheerful and casual as he could manage. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He bent down and picked up his damp shirt and jacket, opting to keep the dry jumper on for now. "At ten?"

"Yes." Freddie stepped aside, letting him pass. "That's fine. I've got a shift at the airport in the afternoon though so I'll have to go at noon." 

"Yeah, alright." Roger stepped out into the market hall, giving his friend a small wave and a brief backward glance. "See you later, Fred." 

"Take care, Roger," Freddie called after him as Roger made his way through the market and disappeared down the stairs. 

\- - -


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legends are not born, they are made. The process takes time and isn't plain sailing. Freddie is miserable. So is Roger. Their reasons, however, are very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you SO MUCH for all the comments! I didn't realise this fandom was so active, and I'm delighted. Your feedback really means the world to me, thanks, you guys.
> 
> Secondly, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to update this frequently all the time, but right now this is just writing itself for me. So enjoy this slightly shorter but fairly intense chapter.  
> By the way, a lot of Fred's section of this chapter takes inspiration from this interview: 
> 
> _Freddie Mercury, 1974, questioned on the subject of boarding schools - brutish behaviour, homosexual goings-on._
> 
> FM: It's stupid to say there is no such thing in boarding schools. All the things they say about them are more or less true. All the bullying and everything else. I've had the odd schoolmaster chasing me. It didn't shock me because somehow boarding schools… you're not confronted by it, you are just slowly aware of it. It's going through life.  
> REPORTER: So were you the pretty boy who everyone wanted to lay?  
> FM: Funnily enough, yes. Anybody goes through that. I was considered the arch poof.  
> REPORTER: So how about being bent?  
> FM: You're a crafty cow. Let's put it this way, there were times when I was young and green. It's a thing schoolboys go through. I've had my share of schoolboy pranks. I'm not going to elaborate further.

\- - -

Freddie felt like crying. But instead of giving in to the feeling, he banished it away and detached himself from his heavy heart until he felt as if nothing really mattered. Until he was a mere observer of his own life, sat behind a smoke screen. He clutched his nearly empty packet of fags, pulled the fur coat tighter around himself and made his way down to street level. It was still raining, but no longer pouring. People huddled under black umbrellas, pushing past each other on the pavement.  
Leaning back against the wall just outside the doors, Freddie lit a cigarette and took a long drag, following the trail of smoke with his eyes as he exhaled it. The lump in his throat stubbornly persisted and he blinked to keep the tears at bay, barely succeeding.  
Fuck. Why was he _like_ this? What was he so upset about, anyway? It was fine. Everything was fine. Roger had to study, so what?  
But of course, he knew that the way Roger had booked it out of there all of a sudden had nothing to do with course work. Roger would never even turn down drinks after work on a Sunday night in all the time he'd known him, least of all in favour of college obligations. 

It was his own fault. He was a fool. What had possessed him to bring up the shenanigans he'd gotten up to at school? When he knew perfectly well how taboo that subject was. 

Granted, London wasn't _as_ bad as India, but still. He knew better than this. The problem was that he'd been lulled into a false sense of security because Roger and him were not so different, in many ways. People called Roger names, too, and Freddie admired how little the younger man cared. He admired Roger's unwavering confidence. But to think that, just for a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Roger was _just_ like him. Had gone through the same things. Felt the same forbidden thrill and the same shame. 

Freddie closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall and exhaling a plume of smoke. 

Of course not. Roger was a regular bloke, a wonderful, normal human being. Not a freak of nature like himself. Freddie often wondered what had gone wrong with him, because it didn't seem fair to think that he was born this way. From his teeth to his utter inability to be anything but an outsider who didn't really fit in anywhere. Or not for long. Someone people were entertained by because he was such a fucking curiosity, at best. And someone who invited ridicule and animosity, at worst. He knew he wasn't _right_.  
Sometimes he managed to not care. Sometimes he thought he'd show them all, one day. There was something inside him, an unquenchable desire to _show_ the world what he was really made of. In a remote corner of his mind, he was a star gone supernova. Shining bright, attracting the admiration of everyone who beheld him and never apologising for who he was. But that strange, unreal imagine wasn't him, now, was it? 

He was the boy with the hawk nose and enormous buck teeth, standing in a corner nursing his drink while he watched beautiful Roger flirt with a gaggle of beautiful girls. He was the boy who'd been shoved into the mud by the wayside by his then best friend when he was eleven and had plucked up the courage to try and kiss the other boy. Because he had a crush on him, and he didn't yet fully comprehend how wrong that was. He was the boy who had never tried anything like that again, until he was fourteen and an older boy took him by the hand and pulled him into the cricket shed. He liked to think back to the few years that followed, because for a while he had enjoyed unrivaled popularity and not even the bullies had fazed him anymore. It had been nice to feel so desired, even if it wasn't for anything other than the rumours which had been circulating about him. Rumors which were not unfounded, although he was sure that he couldn't have been the only one who actively sought out those situations as much as he did. Maybe he was simply more obvious about it. Because he was hungry for life and love, for excitement and approval. And it was fun, at the end of the day. Fairly innocent fun, most of the time.  
Until one day, when it wasn't. That part he didn't like to think about so much. It had been stupid of him, anyway. He should have been wiser about it. To let two of them corner him like that, all the while thinking it was just a game. A bit of fun, as usual. But the game hadn't stopped when he demanded they let him go, and it hadn't stopped when he pleaded with them, tear-faced and terrified. So he had bitten and fought, and broken one of their noses, in the end, getting himself into a whole world of trouble. Anyway, he figured it could have been worse.   
But one way or another, that had been the end of that for him, for a while. He'd just wanted to feel _normal_.

Unfortunately, nothing about being an immigrant in England fresh off the boat was particularly conducive to feeling normal. But he adapted. He persisted, even if that meant spending the large majority of Sixth Form alone in his room, friendless and dreading every new day at school. 

Freddie had finally kissed a girl for the first time in his life aged eighteen, two terms into college.  
It was laughable, really. To think that he'd been Roger's age when he had lost his virginity a year later, in an awkward drunken encounter with a girl whose name he no longer remembered. And to say that he had made up what he lacked in experience over the past few years would have been a laughable overstatement. If someone like Roger was normal, then there was definitely something wrong with him, Freddie figured. No doubt about it. 

And now he'd gone and made sure Roger knew just how _strange_ he really was. Was it any surprise then that his friend wanted to distance himself? Freddie couldn't really blame him. But it was sad all the same, because he knew Roger had friends, plenty of friends, and Freddie was quite sure he'd barely be missed. He, too, had friends. But none of them were as dear to him as Roger. 

It was silly of him, he tried to convince himself, flicking the butt of his second cigarette into the street and turning to head back upstairs. He was going to look for something to wear that would match this lovely coat. He'd decided to hold on to it.  
It made him feel majestic.  
And he wanted to look like fucking royalty, even if he felt like shit inside. 

It was silly of him to think, even for a moment, that Roger cared about him the way he cared about Roger. He knew he could become quite infatuated with people, and it was almost always one-sided. Really, it was better not to think about any of it at all. He was well-practiced in hiding it, never letting on how consumed he was by somebody's mere presence. Roger smiled his cheeky, bright smile and Freddie's heart leapt for joy. Their banter and their often strange, suddenly deep, then suddenly ludicrous conversations warmed his very soul. Roger smelled tangy and musky, sweet lemon and cigarettes, and often Freddie found himself leaning into the younger man's hair when they were peering through the periscope that had been Roger's ingenious idea or leafing through a copy of the latest music magazine together. He was well aware that he had a crush on his friend. That much was obvious. It wasn't the first time, after all.  
Sometimes Freddie thought that maybe he just loved _people_ in a way most others didn't. That was the crux of the matter, and it was almost impossible to explain, even to himself. His early sexual experiences aside, he liked girls. In all honesty, he did. They could be so elegant, vulnerable and _exquisite_ that he wanted to touch them and bask in their glow, at the same time jealous of such natural grace. But then sometimes a boy would catch his eye, and much as he knew and had been told ad nauseum that it wasn't the same, that one was definitely wrong and one was definitely right, it _felt_ all the same to him. Sometimes he thought that if some people could be colourblind, that surely, it might be possible to be gender-blind.  
But that was nonsense, he knew that, and he would sooner take such insane notions to his grave than tell anyone else about them. Especially when he hadn't told Roger, someone he considered a close friend and kindred spirit, even a fraction of the truth and yet it had apparently been enough to send him running for the hills. 

Having found a tight red t-shirt with brown and yellow stripes across the chest which he thought complimented the fur coat rather nicely, Freddie hung up his own damp clothes in the stall, figuring they might as well dry there, and opened the shop back up.  
Trying not to think of Roger and whether or not he had permanently tarnished their friendship, he put on a smile and prepared to entice whoever seemed interested into buying a thing or two. But his heart wasn't in it, and when a few hours with little business had dragged by, he decided to call it a day and head home. 

At least the rain had finally stopped. 

Walking down Kensington High Street in an extravagant fur coat was one thing. The hip crowd in this part of London was colourful and chic, a couple of girls gave him a smile in passing and he was starting to feel a little better about himself. However, when he got off the tube in his quiet, predominantly working class end of town, it was a whole different story.  
He ignored the disapproving looks and tuts from elderly passerbys, paid no mind to raised eyebrows and stares, but began to walk faster nonetheless. When he passed by a pub, he saw a group of lads out of the corner of his eye, elbowing each other and snickering.  
He pretended not to notice the handful of jeers flung his way, just loud enough for him to overhear. But they hurt nonetheless.

His family was sitting around the television when he unlocked the door, and before he could utter a word of greeting, his father looked up and fixed him with a stern gaze. 

"What on earth are you wearing?" he scoffed with such disdain that it made Freddie feel as if he'd walked in dressed in a clown costume. 

He clenched his teeth, his jaw set, and slammed the door shut, heading straight for his room without a word. 

" _Papa..._ " he heard Kash mutter, followed by his father's voice. 

"What? _Look_ at him!" 

Freddie slammed the door to his room behind him and went straight for the radio, turning it up loud. _'...of the age of Aquarius, age of Aquarius, Aquarius... Harmony and understanding...'_

"Farrokh!" 

"It's _Freddie!_ ", he yelled back over his shoulder, and turned the radio up louder as his vision grew cloudy with tears. 

\- - -

It had started raining heavily again by the time Roger reached his flat on early Saturday afternoon. Feeling wet, miserable and chilled to the bone, he peeled off most of his wet clothes, threw them over the radiator and headed straight for the shower. The hot water thawed his cold body and relaxed his muscles, but it did little to calm his mind. Since leaving the market, he'd been going around in circles in his head, and getting nowhere. It was just the same train of thought, over and over and over:  
He liked Fred, Fred was his friend.  
Fred had kissed a boy or two when he was in school. So what?  
So nothing, except for some reason that'd somehow made Roger think about kissing boys.  
Well, not just any boys.  
Just Freddie.  
Which was ridiculous, because Freddie liked girls.  
And Roger liked girls. (A lot.)  
And Freddie definitely wasn't a girl.  
But he was sort of beautiful.  
And sort of attractive.  
Objectively, Roger was sure.  
That was a normal thing to notice, anyone with eyes would've noticed that.  
And anyway, Roger wasn't attracted to blokes.  
He just liked Freddie. (A lot.)  
Freddie was his _friend_.

Roger groaned and pressed his forehead into the cool tiles, hot water raining down on his shoulders and the nape of his neck. He was probably using it all up and was going to hear about it from his flatmates later, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For a moment he considered tossing off, to quieten his mind, if nothing else. It was a good trick, that. Tried and tested. But for once, the idea didn't seem too appealing. He knew exactly why. He was afraid of his own thoughts and the ways in which they could betray him. Some things, once pictured, would be difficult to unsee and he didn't want to risk going down that road. Even now little moments kept replaying in front of his inner eye. A toothy smile, a casual touch, wet hair, bare skin and satin. 

He didn't want to see any of it. He didn't want to think about any of it. 

Determined to drown it all out, Roger spent the rest of the evening watching TV and half-heartedly skimming over his textbooks, chatting to his flatmates and polishing off several beers. It was nearing two in the morning when he had exhausted himself enough to crawl into bed and nod off almost instantly, falling into what he hoped would be a deep, dreamless sleep. 

But his luck was not such.

_Dimmed lights, a mass of people and sound. He was dancing, at a concert. No, a club. A faceless girl in his arms, moving her body up against him, his hands on her hips, her waist, her arse. He was filled with the ecstasy of desire. The world spun, transformed, mutated around him, but the feeling remained. Ecstasy, lust. Kissing with abandon, in his room. Soft. Bed. Warm hands on him, hot lips on his neck.  
Satin beneath his fingers. _

_"It's just practice."_

_A voice in his ear, a melodic voice he knew well._

_"Yeah," he agreed, tangling his fingers in dark hair, pulling at it and eliciting a hiss, a sharp intake of air that made him moan in return. A hand sliding between his legs._  
Oh god. 

_"Rog..." That voice, a mere whisper, but so familiar. "Roger, dear..." He turned his head and stared up into dark eyes, radiant and mischievious._

_Freddie._

_Freddie in an outrageous fur coat, lips parted and cheeks flushed. Grinding against him._

_"Wanna find out?" Freddie whispered, leaning in for a messy kiss that left Roger breathless, long fingers wrapping around his dick tightly and tossing him off so good. Oh, oh_ fuck, _yes, he wanted to. Whatever it was, he wanted to find out. He wanted more. More of Freddie, topless beneath that coat, skin as soft as silk, teeth scraping his neck and oh shit, oh fuck, he- he was-_

Roger woke himself up with a loud moan, every nerve ending in his body on edge and delightful shivers rolling over him like waves crashing on the shore. For a few long moments, he didn't understand what had happened and couldn't wrap his mind around the reality of his bedroom. But as the dream faded, a very real, wet, uncomfortable sensation came into focus. 

"Oh shit. Shit, shit..." he groaned, pulling the blanket back and glancing down at the wet patch on the front of his pants. He'd not bothered with pyjamas when he had gone to bed. "Bloody hell. _Shit._ "

He crept to the bathroom to clean himself up, located his pyjama bottoms and climbed back into bed, shivering. 

"Shit." he muttered under his breath, staring at the ceiling with his hands pressed to his temples. The dream was fading, as dreams did. He didn't quite remember the details. But he certainly remembered enough. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ."

It was official then, he thought miserably. There was no denying it now.  
If there was one thing Roger was certain about, it was the fact that he had a sodding great crush on Freddie Bulsara. The same Freddie Bulsara who he'd just invited over for a weekend at his parents' house. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, silencing a pitiful noise of utter dispair. 

Brilliant. 

He was fucked. Absolutely, royally fucked.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Am I right? You have no idea how excited I am for this story. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger isn't well. Freddie jumps to conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I am loving the interaction in this fandom, it makes me so happy. You should know, I actually did read through some of Freddie Mercury's biography finally (I'd been surviving on articles and interviews before) and discovered I've got one or two factual errors in here already. So I freaked out about that for a bit, but then remembered I'm writing fanfic and also it's still 80% more factually accurate than BoRhap the movie.  
> Also, can we appreaciate 22-year-old Fred for a moment? I'm quite visual and like to look through pictures in between writing and I just... look at him. The body language. The hair. I can't even. Aww.
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/78/35/14/78351448787d248eece835c18698d78b.jpg
> 
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/b782445cfee0f9afdc748bcff1985c2a/tumblr_pellz1Ndu91snb6qwo1_540.jpg
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is full of introspection again but I promise, cross my heart, the next one has a lot of action in it. So hang tight and enjoy the ride.

\- - -

Morning light fell through the shutters, casting soft patterns of yellow and white on the wall. Some things about living at home again were not so bad. A good night's sleep in a comfortable bed, undisturbed by rowdy flatmates making a racket at all hours of the night, was one. Freddie stretched and glanced at the clock on his bedside table, stifling a big yawn. It was just coming up to eight o'clock. For a little while, he lay still and watched the minutes tick by, mulling over the events of the previous day. He'd gone to bed in a rotten mood, feeling extremely sorry for himself, that much was true. But life went on. Today was a new day, he thought and sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his face.  
Time to face the music. 

He got up, showered and took his time getting dressed, eyed the fur coat longingly but deciding against it. Then he let his mother feed him too much breakfast and muttered a semi-sincere apology to his father, played a bit of nothing in particular on the piano, hugged Kash goodbye and wished everyone a good day. 

Everything would be back to normal today, he told himself on the tube, counting down the stops to High Street Kensington. He had most likely flown into a right panic over nothing. 

It was ten past ten when Freddie left the station, and quarter past by the time he'd stopped to buy a croissant (Roger was _always_ starving in the morning), so he didn't think anything of it when he didn't find his friend in their usual meeting place. He'd probably already gone up to the market, and Freddie couldn't blame him. The temperatures had dropped after yesterday's tempest and it was a chilly morning. 

He jogged up the stairs humming a tune, turned the corner and came to a slow stop, his smile fading. He could see from where he was standing that their stall was closed. 

His heart sank. 

Freddie walked up to the stall, let himself in and plugged in the fairy lights. Maybe Roger was just running late. That had to be it, surely. 

But by eleven, there was still no sign of him and Freddie began to eye the public telephone at the end of the row of stalls. For the entire remaining hour before he had to leave, he agonised over whether to make the call or not. Twice he walked up to the phone, feeling for change in his pocket. Once he lifted the receiver, putting it right down again and walking off in a huff. He didn't want to seem needy or desperate. Roger was the one who wasn't here, without any explanation. _He_ should have been the one calling. But the phone never rang, and Freddie's mood darkened rapidly.  
Was it really _so_ awful, what he'd told Roger? He had seemed just fine with it initially. But there really wasn't any other explanation. Sure, Roger could've been hit by a bus this morning for all Freddie knew, but what were the odds? No, he was becoming increasingly certain that he had, in fact, jeopardised their friendship by being so candid and made Roger feel so uncomfortable that he simply didn't want to spend time with him this morning. 

The thought tied his stomach in knots and gnawed away at him, reminding him that it was _never_ safe to let his guard down like that. No matter how much he liked somebody. 

It was nearing twelve, and a stall selling records near him was playing "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore" on an old portable record player. Freddie found a strange sort of solace in how fitting it felt.  
But now it was time to leave for work. Actual mind-numbing work, which he didn't enjoy at the best of times and the thought of which he despised with a passion at this very moment. 

Back on the tube on his way to Heathrow, he got out his notepad and leafed through pages of sketches and writing until he landed on a clean page. His pen hovered over the page for a few minutes, before he finally wrote down two lines. 

_I don't want to die_

_But I wish I'd never been born_

He stared at them for a while, grimaced, and scribbled all over them. Well, that was shite. Instead, he turned a new page and began to draw a figure. Halfway in he realised it was beginning to resemble Roger and sighed deeply, rolling his eyes up at the roof of the carriage and turning yet another page. 

The rest of the journey was spent sketching Jimi Hendrix. 

\- - -

The sun was too bright and his head felt like it was wrapped in a layer of cotton wool. Roger groaned, then coughed and winced at the pain in his throat, opening his eyes and squinting at the alarm clock by the side of his bed. He realised several things at once.  
One; he'd forgotten to set it.  
Two; he'd overslept after lying awake for hours last night.  
Three; he really wasn't feeling too well.  
His throat was sore and his body ached all over. He sat up and immediately felt dizzy, touched his forehead and realised he was burning up. Spending a good part of the day cold and wet yesterday had clearly not done him any favours. Lowering himself back down onto the bed gingerly, he glanced back at the clock and tried to think. It was half past nine. On Sunday morning. 

Kenny market! He was supposed to be meeting Freddie in half an hour. His foggy mind informed him that this clearly wasn't going to happen, given the state he was in.  
It took him a minute or two, but eventually he crawled out of bed, wrapped in his duvet like a cranky, oversized toddler. Then he plodded to the living room and curled up on the couch next to the telephone. 

One of his two flatmates, a French girl named Brigitte who always seemed to be in a rush, brushed past him on her way out. 

"Morning!", she said chipperly. 

Roger grunted. 

Brigitte paused at the door, looking him over. "'Angover?", she wagered. 

"I'm sick." Roger informed her, reaching for the telephone. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." Brigitte gave him a sympathetic smile. "Get better. Drink a lot of vater." 

"Uh-huh." Roger nodded, trying to concentrate. He had rung Freddie's house enough times over the last two months to have the number memorised. As the door fell shut, Roger dialed. 

"Please be home, please be home...", he murmured under his breath, listening to the phone ring. It was Freddie's mother who picked up. 

"Hello?"

"Uh, Mrs. Bulsara? Can I speak to Freddie, please?" 

"I'm sorry, dear, he left a while ago." Mrs Bulsara informed him. Roger dropped his head onto the armrest and sighed. 

"Right, okay. Don't worry then. Just tell him I called when he gets back, please?" 

"I'm sorry, who is it?" 

"Oh, sorry." Roger rubbed the corners of his eyes. "It's Roger."

"I will tell him you called, Roger."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bulsara. Bye."

"Goodbye, dear."

Roger hung up the phone and curled into a fetal position, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Of course Fred had already left, it took a good hour to get from Feltham to Kensington. He would have to ring the public phone at the market then, in a bit. Except he couldn't remember the number, and the thought of having to dig through the mess in his room to find it was very unappealing right now.  
He would, in a bit. In just a bit. 

His head felt as heavy as his eyelids. Everything hurt. He was thirsty but he couldn't bring himself to move. Without meaning to, Roger drifted back off to sleep. 

Noises from the kitchen brought him back around and he blinked with a frown, then pulled himself up, peering over the back of the sofa. His other flatmate and Brigitte's boyfriend, Christian, was pottering around in the kitchen, probably preparing a meal. 

"What time is it?", Roger croaked. 

Christian turned around and checked his watch. "Ten to twelve. You not feeling well?" 

"No." Roger picked up his duvet around himself and attempted to get off the couch. "Fever." 

"Sorry, mate. Feel better." 

"Thanks." 

Having finally made it to the kitchen, Roger filled up a glass with water from the tap and dragged himself back to his room. He plopped down on the bed and looked around, trying to remember where he'd left his address book. He had better find it, Freddie was bound to be wondering what the hell had happened to him this morning.  
And then, he remembered something else. Work. Freddie had to leave for work at twelve. 

Roger looked at the clock, cursed under his breath, and began to dig through his belongings in earnest. When he finally returned to the living room with his address book, in as much of a hurry as he could muster given that he felt like death warmed up, it was twelve o'clock on the dot. 

Roger chewed his thumb nail absentmindedly, the receiver cool against his ear. The phone rang and rang for what seemed like ages. Finally, somebody picked up.

"Hello?"

The voice was not Freddie's, he recognised immediately, but that wasn't unusual. Normally any of the vendors running the stalls nearby would pick up and call over whoever the call was intended for. 

"Hey, it's Roger." 

"Morning Roger, what can I do you for?" 

"Alan?" Roger recognised the voice of one of the other stall owners whom they had become quite friendly with. "Is Freddie around?" 

"He was just here a minute ago. Hang on." There was silence, except for the distant chatter and noise of the market. Then Alan was back. "Sorry, mate, he must've just left."

"Drat." Roger sighed. "Alright, mate, don't worry. Cheers though."

They bid each other goodbye and Roger dropped the received back onto the phone, feeling helpless and a bit guilty. Fred probably thought - God knows what he thought. Surely he couldn't have been that concerned, or _he_ would have called by now. And anyway, Roger would explain everything tonight when Freddie got back from his airport job. Everything apart from the fact that he - Roger Meddows Taylor, ladies' man - was apparently in lust with him. He might keep that one to himself. 

With that distressing thought back on his mind, Roger dragged himself to his room and climbed back into bed. Well, this was just perfect. Now he felt like shit all around. 

\- - -

It was dark outside and Freddie could see his reflection in the train window, above the empty seat across from him. It flickered and faded in and out as the train whizzed along, crystal clear one moment and barely there the next. 

He was in a dangerous mood. His body was exhausted from work, but his mind was wired. He had run out of pity for himself. He had grown bored with misery.  
He was beyond regret. 

He wanted to feel something new, think something new, see faces that didn't remind him of anyone. He wanted to be drunk, preferably somewhere loud where people didn't really talk. 

It wasn't often that Freddie went out by himself. He usually preferred company. But tonight was different. He didn't want the weight of anybody's expectations on him. Tonight, he barely wanted to be himself. 

He stopped only briefly to greet his family when he walked in, then continued straight to his room and pulled out the satin trousers and his favourite floral print shirt. Then he locked himself in the bathroom and quietly went through his mother's make up, pocketing a kohl pencil and dabbing some powder onto his face that, he thought, made him appear fairer. 

"Are you going out again already?", his mother called after him as he disappeared back into his room. "You haven't eaten any dinner."

His father only tutted. 

"Sorry, Mama. I'm not hungry", he called from his room, taking a moment in front of the mirror to pick out a few choice pieces of jewellery. Then he threw on his fur coat and made for the door before his father could decide to stop and question him, with a quick: "Don't wait up." 

“Ay, I forgot to tell him.", Mrs. Bulsara said as the door closed.

But Freddie was already gone. 

When he had turned the corner, he crouched down next to a parked car's wing mirror and carefully lined his eyes with kohl. He had noticed the trend in magazines a while ago, and it appealed to him greatly. There were many parts of himself he was never happy with, but his eyes he loved. Accentuating them felt natural and extravagant at the same time.  
Happy with the result, and hoping that his mother wouldn't discover her eyeliner missing, he lit a cigarette and continued on his way to the train station. There was a strange sort of magic in fashion, he thought. It was wearable confidence. If nothing else, moving back in with his parents for a while had been worth it for the sheer fact of how much money he had saved on rent, and spent on clothes and accessories. 

But then he spotted them. The moment the pub came into sight, he felt himself tense up. That same group of lads, standing outside chatting and laughing loudly. Clearly they'd had more than a couple of pints, this time around. He considered crossing the street, but decided against it. He wasn't scared of them.  
Lowering his head slightly, Freddie sped up a little and hoped they were too preoccupied to notice him. His gut knotted when he heard the chatter die down as he approached, followed by a few snickers. Then a wolf whistle, followed by more snickering. Freddie rolled his eyes, determined not to pay them any mind. 

"Oi, princess!" 

"Give us a kiss." 

Roars of laughter as they egged each other on, but he didn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction, simply carrying on down the road instead, and that did not sit well with them. 

"Go suck a dick, ye fucking fruit!" One of them yelled after him, much to the others' approval, and Freddie had had it. Any other night, he wouldn't have stopped. Any other night, he would have ignored it and dismissed them. But today was not any other night. 

He whipped around, one hand on his hip and his cigarette in the other, heart pounding in his throat. 

"Takes one to know one, _darling_!" 

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the group erupted into hysterical laughter again, this time in Freddie's favour, howling and shoving their mate. The young man's mouth hung open as he reddened from embarrassment and anger. He had no retort, and Freddie felt glorious. He smirked and turned on his heel, just as the other man found his voice again. 

"Fuck off, paki cunt! " 

It was a cheap shot and too late. 

"I'm not from Pakistan," Freddie called back over his shoulder and flipped them off as he walked away with his head held high. No one was going to put him down tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. So I couldn't write this and not think: man, all this could have been avoided in the digital age. And then I thought... what if. So just for shits and giggles, here's the modern AU of this chapter. lol
> 
> **Sunday, 6th of April  
>  9.25am  
> Freddie:** Running late sry  
>  **9.38am  
>  Roger:** morning  
>  **Roger:** sorry can't make it  
>  **Roger:** sick as a dog  
>  **10.10am  
>  Freddie:** wtf  
>  **Freddie:** are you serious  
>  **10.23am**  
>  **Freddie:** Roger  
>  **Freddie:** r u avoiding me  
>  **Freddie:** nevermind  
>  **Freddie:** whatevr  
>  **Freddie:** whatever*  
>  **11:51am  
>  Roger:** ??  
>  **Roger:** I fell asleep  
>  **Roger:** i'm fuckin dying  
>  **Freddie:** really  
>  **Roger:** REALLY ffs  
>  **Freddie:** I'm sorry  
>  **Freddie:** thought I freaked you out  
>  **Roger:** when  
>  **Roger:** why  
>  **12.06am  
>  Freddie:** ...  
>  **Freddie:** yesterday  
>  **Roger:** what cause you like the *eggplant emoji*  
>  **Freddie:** fuck off y wanker  
>  **Freddie:** u*  
>  **Roger:** kidding  
>  **Roger:** calm your tits  
>  **Roger:** ill see soon ok  
>  **Roger:** feel like shit *barfing emoji*  
>  **Freddie:** k don't worry dear  
>  **Freddie:** talk soon  
>  **Freddie:** :-* :-P  
>  **Roger:** *random GIF*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are made. Alcohol is involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Over 100 kudos! I love you, thank you so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> This chapter is looong. And there's a lot going on. I promised you action, well here it is. I'm pretty sure there's at least one mildly sexist remark from Roger, and I reckon there will be more in the futurem so I'll only say this once: Let's all remember this is set fifty years ago and he's nineteen.  
> Speaking of Roger, did you know real Roger has an actual statue of Freddie in his garden? True story. My heart can't take it.
> 
> ANYWAY, without further ado, enjoy.

\- - -

He'd gone to Soho. 

It was a Sunday night and most places were going to be quiet or closing by this time, but not in Soho. If Kensington was the lung of the city, breathing with fresh ideas and life, then Soho was its heart, pulsing with rhythm and emotion.  
Soho, where the worst and the best of London melded into a heady mix of sleaze and glamour. Where the streets rang with blues and rock and roll music at night and no one gave a shit what you wore, as long as you wore it well. 

The basement was dingy and small, the air thick with cigarette smoke. It wasn't exactly the Marquee Club, but you couldn't drink at the Marquee, not downstairs anyway, unless you were sly about it. And Freddie needed a drink. He needed a drink while he lost himself in the raw, visceral pleasure of live music. Drums that matched the beat of his heart, guitar riffs that bled into his body and set his soul alight. He'd never heard of the band before and had already forgotten their name, but they weren't bad and that was good enough. 

When the set finished he headed upstairs, flushed from the heat and euphoria of the place. Coming up to the bar to get another drink, he looked around and happened to lock eyes with a girl across the room. She looked a bit bored, sat next to her friend who was chatting away and laughing, enjoying the attention of a bloke trying to get lucky. Freddie looked down at the glass he had just been handed, instinctively pursing his lips to make sure his teeth weren't showing, and lifted his eyes again. 

She was still watching him. Her gaze slowly traveled down along his body and back up and Freddie couldn't help the discreet smile forming on his lips, flattered by the attention. 

The girl smiled back and lifted her wine glass in a silent toast. Freddie cocked his head and returned the gesture, before taking a couple of large gulps. He was parched and should have probably thought to ask for tap water, but the port and lemon was refreshing and sweet so the thought had barely crossed his mind. 

The girl looked over at her friend and he turned away, not particularly intent on pursuing it any further. He wasn't Roger. The next part of this scenario wasn't something he was very good at and it wasn't what he'd come for, anyway. 

He frowned, reminded of Roger. By now, his disappointment and worry had turned to bitterness and anger, whether at himself or Roger, he wasn't quite sure.

Maybe this _was_ what he'd come for?  
Maybe it should be. He couldn't deny that he was a little intrigued by the girl in the corner. She was pretty. Long brown hair and large, smokey eyes.  
After a few moments of deliberation, Freddie decided to sneak another glance, just to see if she was still interested. And if she was, well - he might consider saying hello. 

But when he looked up, she was no longer there.  
Freddie straightened and glanced around the room, feeling a tinge of disappointment. She was nowhere to be seen. 

Oh well. That was that, then. 

After a few minutes, he threw his coat back on and reached into his pocket to fish out his cigarettes. His ears rang from the noise and cooling off outside for a bit seemed like a good idea. Freddie lit a cigarette, picked up his glass and made his way through the crowd. He pushed the door open, took a sip of his drink as he stepped out into the alleyway, and promptly choked on it. 

There she was, with her back against the wall and an almost empty wine glass in her hand. And of course, she noticed him immediately, and _of course_ , he realised, it now looked as if he had followed her outside.

She smiled. "Hey."

"Hello," he said, cleared his throat, and took another sip. A slightly uncomfortable silence followed, while he tried to remember how to be a human being. Was he standing awkwardly? Did people stand like this? Where was he supposed to be looking? Was he drinking too quickly? Shit, he was definitely drinking too quickly. 

"I dig your outfit." She reached out and ran her fingers down the sleeve of his coat.

"Thank you," he smiled a little, chuffed with the compliment, and lowered his eyes. "I like your boots."

He did. They were very nice suede lace up boots. And they went extremely well with the short skirt she was wearing.

"I'm Jane."

Freddie remembered the cigarette in his hand and took a long drag, exhaling it as he looked back up. "Freddie."

"Nice to meet you, Freddie." Smiling warmly, Jane lifted her wine. "Cheers." 

He took a tentative step closer, clinking glasses with her. "Cheers, my dear."

They each took a sip of their drink and Jane glanced at his cigarette. "Could I bother you for one of those?"

"Certainly," Freddie gave her one of his fags and lit it for her. They shared a cigarette, chatting about the band and whether they had been any good or not, and the London music scene in general. By the time she had finished her cigarette, her glass was empty and she twirled it between her fingers with an impish look on her face. 

"So... I think this is where you offer to buy me another drink?" 

Freddie lifted his eyebrows in surprise and chuckled, impressed and somewhat intimidated by her in equal measure. "Is that so?" 

Jane laughed and gave him a little shrug, and Freddie eyed her curiously, chewing his lip. 

"I suppose it would be rude of me not to, then." he eventually said with a playful twinkle in his eye. "May I buy you a drink?" 

Instead of a reply, her smile widened. She pushed herself off the wall and brushed past him slowly, throwing an inviting look over her shoulder as she opened the door. Freddie reached out to hold the door for her, pursing his lips to suppress a toothy grin, and followed her back inside.

_______

Something had startled Roger awake, this much he knew, but for a long few moments he couldn't understand what or why. It was dark, his head was heavy and the clock didn't make any sense. Was it quarter to three in the morning? Or in the afternoon? 

Then he heard the noise again and almost jumped out of his skin. The offending sound seemed loud and too close for comfort in the quiet of the night - it was dark, it was night, his brain helpfully determined.  
And someone was chucking pebbles at his window.

 _Clink-clunk_. 

He threw back the duvet and shuddered, climbing out of bed. He was drenched in sweat and nights were still very chilly this time of year. 

_Cu-lunk._

At the back of his mind, he noted that he felt a little better than when he'd gone to sleep, but that wasn't saying much. His throat was agony and he felt clammy and weak, not having eaten a thing in over twenty-four hours. 

When he put his hand on the curtains, he hesitated and momentarily panicked, wondering if he would find a spurned lover. His mind raced, trying to recall if he had ended things on a particularly bad note with anyone recently. Or worse, he pondered with an uneasy feeling, could it be some bird's _boyfriend_?

_CLUNK._

Maybe he should just pretend he wasn't there and they'd go away?  
However, what he heard next cleared up the matter, and raised a whole different set of questions. 

"ROGER!" 

"What the hell?" Roger muttered under his breath, drawing back the curtains and peering out through the window. "You have got to be kidding me-" He opened the window and leaned out. "Freddie?!"

Sure enough, there stood Fred, fur coat and all, looking rather the worse for wear. He dropped the remaining pebbles he held in his hand and swayed unsteadily on his feet, looking at Roger as if he'd quite forgotten how he had come to be there.

"Oh, hello dear. You're up," he observed and staggered closer to the window.

"I bloody am _now_ , yeah." Roger replied, confused and annoyed in equal measure. His teeth were beginning to chatter from the cold. "Mind telling me what's going on?"

Freddie had the audacity to shrug as if he was wondering the same thing. "I walked from Soho." he said helpfully, slurring his words. "'s bloody far."

"Blimey, how plastered are you?" 

Not willing to freeze his arse off any longer, Roger stepped away from the window to get his duvet and wrap it around himself.

____

It wasn't going to be a cheap night, not anymore, but he didn't mind that now. Jane had just introduced him to something called a White Russian, and it was _divine_. Creamy, delicious vodka-infused goodness, so good that it was gone too fast, but that was alright because he still had enough on him to buy another round.

"Barkeep!" Freddie shouted over the chatter and music in the bar, waving to the bartender. "Two more, please!"

The club would be closing soon, so there was really no time to waste.

Jane burst out laughing. " _Barkeep?_ "

"Yes, I just love the word," he leaned into her with a conspiratorial grin, lowering his voice. "Don't you think it's fab? I'll keep saying it until it catches on." 

Once over the initial awkwardness of new encounters, Feddie wasn't a bad conversationalist nor was he bad with girls. Quite the opposite. He had often found himself in predominantly female circles in college, although it hadn't necessarily lead to much of a love life. He'd just enjoyed the girls' company. In groups, boys could be so unsophisticated and brutish, and it was exhausting at times. 

Still giggling, Jane raised her hand as well. "Oh barkeep!"

They both burst into hysterics, but tried to hold it together when the bartender finally came over to them, regarding them with subdued exasperation.

"Yes," Freddie raised an eyebrow, attempting to keep a straight face. "Hello, good sir. I'll have another one of these, please. And one for the lady! Make it snappy!"

He clapped his hands, with all the self-importance of a royal brat, ordering the servants about. The bartender rolled his eyes and walked off. 

"He's going to kill me for this," Freddie told Jane amidst laughter, making a face. He knew he'd taken it a bit far, but it was too late now and he was too tipsy to care.

"I had you pegged for the quiet type," she giggled, tapping her finger on his chest. They were standing so close that her face was mere inches from his. She was fairly tall, Freddie was not, so the heels of her boots put her almost at level height with him despite his own platform shoes. "But you... you are something else."

"Darling, you don't know the half of it," Freddie replied and realised that his hand was on her hip. He wasn't sure how long it had been there. Her hand, in turn, was now resting on his chest, fingertips tracing the floral patterns. He stared at her lips for a moment, still smiling, and just then their cocktails arrived. 

_____

"ROGAH!" Fred yelled at the top of his voice the moment his friend had disappeared from sight and Roger cringed as he heard a nearby window open.

"COME BACK!"

"If you don't stop that racket I'm ringing the police!" An elderly neighbour boomed. "People are sleeping!"

"Sorry!" Roger shouted back, having returned to the window with his duvet around his shoulders. 

"My-" Freddie hiccupped and doffed an imaginary hat to the neighbour. "-shins 'ere apple gees." 

Roger snorted and ran a hand down his face, amused despite himself at what he could only imagine was meant to be 'sincere apologies' and the sheer state of his friend. He didn't think he'd ever seen Fred this drunk before. Freddie always seemed to drink in measure, when he did. He didn't care for beer much and was usually happy sipping a gin and tonic or port wine and lemonade while Roger and the other guys went through several rounds of lager.

"Are you gonna come in or what?" he called, trying not to shout. 

Freddie raised his finger to his lips and shushed him with a very stern expression. Then he looked around and pointed in the general direction of the stairs leading up to the first floor landing, raising his eyebrows. 

" _Yes._ " Roger hissed, and closed the window. 

Drawing the curtains shut, he discarded his duvet on the bed and went to flick on the light, rummaging around for a jumper before he quietly made his way to the door. When he opened it, Freddie was leaning against the bannister, trying and failing to light a match with a cigarette hanging from his lips. The match broke in half and he frowned at it, flicking it into the street. Then he looked up, squinting at Roger. 

"Have you got any matches? I think I'm all out, darling."

Roger sighed, stepped out onto the landing, grabbed his friend by the arm and dragged him into the flat, shutting the door behind them. 

"He-ey... lemme go... I dropped it-" 

Now it was Roger who shushed him, trying his best not to disturb his flatmates while he guided Freddie to his room. The older man shielded his eyes, grimacing at the light, and stumbled while trying to navigate a path through Roger's belongings, many of which lay strewn around the small room. 

"Oh, dearie me! This's a pigsty." Freddie complained, nudging a dirty sock out of the way with his foot. "How d'you-" he hiccuped, " _live_ like this?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting company," Roger pointed out, arms crossed over his chest. "You're welcome to kip in the street if you'd rather." 

Freddie stopped, swaying, and turned back to him, a look of genuine despair on his face. "No, please..."

"I'm _kidding_ , Christ. I'm not kicking you out. What's wrong with you?"

Freddie lowered his gaze, his voice almost a whisper. "I shoudn't've come."

Given how genuinely distraught his friend suddenly seemed, Roger was trying not to look too amused. Freddie always had a very mild lisp, but the alcohol was _really_ bringing it out. It was incredibly endearing, he caught himself thinking, and averted his eyes. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he said quickly, "I'll get you some water." 

When he returned from the kitchen with a pint of tap water, Freddie was taking off his shoes and had begun a sort of gradual, unintentional descent to the floor in the process. Roger watched with considerable amusement as he first leaned on the windowsill for support, then the side of the bed, where he attempted to sit but somehow, hilariously, missed, only to end up on the carpet. 

"Oh shit," Roger lifted one hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh. "you alright there, Fred?" 

Having arrived on the floor rather disgracefully, Freddie made a weak attempt to lift himself up but then admitted defeat and spread himself out on his back at the side of Roger's bed. And there he stayed, whimpering quietly, one hand draped over his face. 

"I'm _dying_ ," he groaned. 

"Yeah, well, hurry up," Roger told him through a yawn, placing the glass of water on the bedside table. "I'd really like to go back to sleep." 

Groggily wondering what to do about sleeping arrangements, given that his bed was a single and the sofa wasn't that large either, Roger wandered off to the bathroom for a pee. But by the time he returned, Freddie was lying very still and snoring quietly. Roger looked at his friend for a while, taking in the incredibly messy hair, the partly unbottoned shirt, and not failing to notice a very prominent hickey, large and red, just above his left collarbone. Roger raised an eyebrow. He couldn't wait to hear _that_ story in the morning.  
At least Freddie looked comfortable enough, the large coat drowning his skinny frame, head resting on the back of his hand. Roger nipped back to the living room one last time, nicked the plaid covering the worn out sofa, and draped it over his friend before he returned to bed. 

___

It had seemed like such a terrible waste, when they had noticed the bottle. The bar was closing, Jane's friend (Lucy, Freddie now knew) and her fella had been copping off in the corner for a good hour, and had eventually left together. 

But the bottle of house white he had bought them - trying to impress, no doubt - still stood on the table, clean forgotten and half full. No one had come around yet to clear it away, and Jane took Freddie by the hand as he finished paying, pulling him towards the door and making a beeline for the table in the corner.

They stumbled out into the night, stolen wine bottle and all, and turned down a small alleyway until they found themselves in a dead end in the form of a small courtyard.

"Oh," Jane stopped, looking around and then back the way they had come. "Oh no, that's not right."

They looked at each other and Freddie threw his hands up dramatically, clasping them in front of his chest. "Oh, mother! We've lost our way!"

Jane burst out laughing and took a swig from the bottle, before passing it to Freddie, and then attempted a little twirl in the centre of the court yard. He took a swig as well and caught her when she all but fell into him, stumbling backward with the momentum until his back came up against a wall. Suddenly her hands were around his neck, her thigh between his legs, and there was silence except for the deafening pounding of his heart. Freddie took another swig and studied her face, his mind and body pleasantly numb. 

"Hey there," Jane breathed, running her fingers up and down the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"Hello," he swallowed, lifted his hand to her cheek and kissed her. It was hardly the genteel, tentative first kiss of a blooming romance, nor did either of them want it to be. It was messy, hungry and deep and he moaned into it and pulled her closer against himself, one hand on her arse and the other barely holding on to the bottle of wine. They came up for air after a while, only for Jane to dive into his neck, tongue, teeth and all. Letting out a shuddering breath, Freddie closed his eyes and tilted his head back. It wasn't the best idea. His head was spinning something awful. He hadn't felt it so much, standing at the bar, but now it was becoming very evident just how drunk he really was. In all this time, it had never occurred to him to stop and consider that the last thing he had eaten was a croissant at midday and that perhaps downing an entire assortment of different alcoholic beverages on an empty stomach wasn't the best idea.  
Jane's lips found his again but he couldn't focus on her. The dizziness was only getting worse, bringing with it a sudden wave of nausea. "Oh dear," he muttered, breaking the kiss and disentangling himself from her embrace, even though she was reluctant to let go. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm-"

And that was all he could muster before it was too late and his stomach rebelled. 

___

It was around nine in the morning when Roger woke up. After a lazy stretch, he sat up in bed and was glad to discover that he felt surprisingly alright. His throat was dry and achey, but at least the fever was definitely gone. He scratched his head, feeling very grungy this morning. The whole room felt like it probably had a very ripe aroma right about now, if anyone were to walk in. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered over the side of his bed. Freddie was still fast asleep and appeared to have barely moved all night. Roger snorted quietly and shook his head, climbing over him and grabbing a towel from the floor on his way to the bathroom.

He showered, got dressed, put on the kettle and washed down a piece of buttered toast with a cup of tea ('borrowing' all of it from his flatmates, who had already headed out for the day). Then he decided to tidy his room a little. It _was_ a mess, and he did feel a little bad that Fred had spent the night right next to a pile of his dirty laundry. Freddie stirred a few times but still hadn't woken up, and at half past ten, Roger figured it had been long enough and decided to change that fact. His eyes immediately fell on his drum kit, sitting in the corner mostly disassembled. One of the cymbals, however, was still on its stand. Roger grinned mischieviously. He quietly picked up a drumstick and twirled it between his fingers.  
Then he gave the cymbal a good smash.

The result was even better than he had anticipated. Freddie jerked awake with a squeal and shot up, looking around bleary-eyed, a dumbfounded expression on his face, wild curls of hair sticking up in all directions. "Wha...?"

Roger laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Slowly wrapping his sleep-dazed mind around the situation, Freddie lay back down with a groan and pulled the plaid over his head.

"Fuck you," he moaned from underneath, curling himself into a ball. "Fuck you _very_ much."

"I'm sorry," Roger wiped his eyes, hoarse from laughter and trying to catch his breath. "Oh god, that was hysterical."

It took him a good few minutes to calm down, but Freddie still hadn't reemerged from under the blanket. Roger sighed and put his drumstick aside, feeling at ease in that moment, quite as thought everything was back to normal. He scooted over to the plaid-covered breathing mound that was Freddie and nudged him gently with his foot. 

"Oi. You alive under there?" 

Very slowly, Freddie lowered the blanket, just past his eyes, and glanced up at him briefly before looking away. 

"Barely," came the reply. 

"I'm not surprised. Last night-" 

"I know," the older man cut him off, bringing both hands up to his face. "I know, and I'm so sorry. I don't know why... I-I don't know _what_ I was thinking. Where are my shoes..." 

It looked painful, Roger thought, the way he sat up, wincing and whimpering at every move. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, confused. 

"Getting out of your hair, dear," Freddie said quietly, avoiding his eyes, and began to pull on one shoe. 

"You really don't have to," Roger blinked, wondering what in the world was going on. Did Freddie think he was mad at him for last night? He really wasn't. What else were friends for? 

"Oh, I think I do." There was a hint of anger in his tone now. "You made it quite clear you didn't want me around." 

"What? Fred-" 

"I'm not an idiot," he chuckled bitterly, struggling with his second shoe, "well, I _am_ , clearly. But I'm going now, so- _fucking hell!_ " The second shoe wouldn't cooperate and Freddie lost it, flinging it across the room in a sudden bout of anger that made Roger flinch. A move he immediately seemed to regret. His shoulders slumped and he sighed miserably, almost sobbed, hiding his face behind his hand. 

"I don't have a single clue," Roger said very slowly, and very seriousy, "what in the world you're on about. So, please, will you kindly calm the fuck down and explain to me when I _ever_ said I didn't want you around?" 

\- - -

Freddie fervently wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. His head was in agony, he still felt nauseous and on top of that, he was so embarrassed. No, more than that, he was mortified to the point of tears.  
He barely remembered arriving at Roger's house last night. He certainly didn't remember passing out on the floor. The last thing he remembered well was walking up Tottenham Court Road, determined to give Roger a piece of his mind about what a terrible friend he was. Clearly, that intention had been lost somewhere along the way. Clearly, he couldn't do anything right. He couldn't even put on his _fucking shoe_.  
It wouldn't have been so hard to think, if he wasn't feeling so rough. All he wanted was for Roger to stop sitting so close to him, boring into him with his bright blue eyes. Asking him bloody obvious questions.  
Freddie took a deep breath and looked up warily. He swallowed. "You never showed up. Yesterday morning...?" 

There was a pause. 

"Christ!" Roger's eyebrows shot up. "Is _that_ what this is? I was sick. Woke up with a fever and called your house, but you were already out, and then I passed out and it was too late to call you at the market." 

Freddie stared at him in consternation, mouth slightly agape.

"Mate, I was barely a person yesterday," Roger continued when he didn't say anything. "Didn't your mum tell you I rang?" 

Freddie turned away, staring off into space, and slowly shook his head. "I wasn't home for long last night..."

"And, what?" Roger frowned. "You thought I was suddenly fed up with you or something?" 

"I..." Freddie looked down, scratching at a spot on the carpet. "I thought it was... I thought, after what I told you, um, the other day, that..." 

He felt incredibly ridiculous, all of a sudden. Had he really fretted and agonised over absolutely nothing, this whole time? 

"That stuff?" Roger tutted dismissively, running a hand through his hair. "I said, didn't I? I don't fucking care about that. What kind of rubbish friend do you take me for, anyway? You know you could bloody well tell me you murdered someone and I'd probably help you hide the body? Jesus Christ, Fred, don't be so dramatic. You're worse than a girl sometimes, you know that?"

Freddie made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sob, and clapped a hand over his mouth, not quite sure for a moment whether he was going to laugh or cry with relief.

"Come here, you plonker," Roger said affectionately, and because he wasn't looking at him, what happened then took Freddie by surprise. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him into a half hug. Freddie was scared to move. Every instinct in him was telling him to turn and embrace the other back, properly, but he couldn't trust himself. He was certain it would be a step too far. Instead he lowered his head onto Roger's shoulder for a moment, breathing in his soapy fresh scent. His heart gave a little jolt and he felt so ludicrous at the same time. Roger was only trying to comfort him. But he couldn't help how he felt, and without really meaning to, he tilted his head up ever so slightly. The tip of his nose lightly grazed the other's neck. He could have sworn that Roger shuddered, but dismissed it immediately as a complete fabrication of his imagination. Because the next moment, the younger man pulled away and patted him on the back. 

"Anyway, you can stay as long as you like," he said, and got to his feet. "I'm gonna pop to the shop. There's literally no food and I'm starving."

He walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a towel, chucking it in Freddie's direction.

"In case you wanna take a shower." 

"Oh, my god, yes." Freddie wafted his coat, somewhat amused and dismayed that he was still wearing it. "I stink." 

"Well, I didn't want to say anything," Roger grinned, making his way to the door. "See you in a bit, yeah?" 

Freddie nodded, and collapsed back onto the floor as soon as the door closed.  
He was never _ever_ drinking again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this is the first time that I, lover of PWPs, am attempting to write a slow burn? I'm constantly anxious that it's all too slow and everyone will lose interest. I hope not. We'll see.
> 
> I love comments. Who doesn't? Please comment and tell me what you thought, I'll love you forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazy mornings, intrusive thoughts and band meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the Easter holidays and I have two kids under five who aren't in kindergarten this week, so my free time is very limited. But I've managed to finish this chapter, yay!

\- - - 

The problem wasn't that something had changed, Roger thought, awkwardly juggling the grocery bag and his matches to light a cigarette on his way back to the flat.   
The problem was that nothing had changed.   
The more he thought about it, the more apparent it became to him that he had felt a certain way about Freddie for some time now. 

It was the little moments. 

The urge to watch him. The way he laughed, the way he chewed his lips when he was sketching, the way his hands moved so gracefully when he was animated in conversation. The urge to be close to him, to touch him. A nudge, a hug, an innocent brush of hands. He had felt all of it before. Only until now, he hadn't connected the dots. And now that he _had_ , he was extremely aware of it, which only served to intensify those feelings. 

He flicked the half-smoked cigarette away as he turned a corner. It wasn't doing his throat any favours, and he hadn't really felt like it anyway. The problem was that this was all very easy for him, when it came to girls. If he liked a girl, he acted on it. Sometimes there was no winning them over, and that was fine, because what did he really have to lose? If he kissed a girl, he knew where it would lead and he was good at _that_.   
Well, he'd not had any complaints, anyway. 

But this was nothing like that. He couldn't act on it, for a start. That would be insane. A surefire way to end their friendship, he was certain. And even if he lost his mind and _did_ decide to act on it, and _wasn't_ flat out turned down, which was more unlikely still, the thought of where it might lead was unfathomable and mildly terrifying to him. So there was nothing for it but to try and put it all out of his mind, until he got over it. And he would get over it, he assured himself, most likely sooner rather than later. After all, he'd never been terribly hung up on a _girl_ for too long. How different could this be? 

When he let himself back into the flat, Freddie was sitting on the sofa cross-legged and barefoot, the plaid around his shoulders and the telephone in his lap. Wearing Roger's clothes.  
Freddie looked up and gave him a smile, while talking into the receiver.

"Yes, Mama, I know." 

Roger walked through to the kitchen and deposited the groceries on the counter, listening in on Freddie's conversation without really meaning to while he unpacked the bag.

"I'm _sorry_. But I'm- Yes, but- Mum, I'm twenty-two! I'm calling _now_ , am I not!?" 

Roger chuckled. He could imagine the conversation. 

"I _don't know_ what time, sometime later today. I have to go now. Bye- Alright, yes, _bye_."

The receiver was dropped back onto the phone and there was a deep, exasperated sigh.  
Roger picked up a frying pan and contemplated the contents of the bag, laid out on the counter. Ham and cheese toasties it was. 

"I took the liberty of borrowing some of your clothes!" Freddie called out from the living room.

"So I've noticed," Roger called back, struggling to light a hob on the old, temperamental gas cooker. 

"You really need to organise your wardrobe, it's like digging through a Salvation Army collection bin."

Roger snorted. "I think _you_ really need to organise my wardrobe if it bothers you so much."

"Not a chance. I found unspeakable things in there, I'm not going anywhere near it ever again."

"Wait, did you-" Roger stopped what he was doing, slightly concerned, and leaned into the living room, even though he could only see the back of the sofa and Freddie's feet hanging over the side. "Are you talking about the knickers or the other thing?" he asked curiously. "Because I can explain."

There was a moment's silence. 

"What other thing?" 

Roger disappeared back into the kitchen. "Nevermind!" 

Another silence followed, while Roger went about preparing the sandwiches, waiting for one of the inevitable question that he was sure would eventually follow. 

"Alright, so what's the story with the knickers then...?" Freddie started, his voice clearly amused. "I mean, I'm sure you look absolutely ravishing in red-" 

"They're _not mine_!" Roger shouted over him, "Someone left them, obviously. I just... kept them." 

Freddie seemed to mull this over for a moment. 

"Why?" 

Roger shrugged. "Dunno, didn't feel right just throwing them in the bin, I guess. Disrespectful." 

"But it felt right keeping them...?" 

"I don't know! Next time maybe don't go snooping through my things," he huffed. In all honesty, he wasn't really upset. He didn't think there were any secrets, dirty or otherwise, which he absolutely wouldn't share with most of his close friends. At a push.   
Or there hadn't been, anyway, until quite recently. 

The toasties came out charred and the tea was lukewarm by the time he placed the cups on the coffee table. 

Then he returned with the plates, stopping in front of the sofa and waiting for Freddie to sit up and make some space for him. Instead, the older man stretched and looked up, pulling his legs away and replacing them as soon as Roger sat down, right over the top of his lap. Something about the way he did it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, made it impossible to argue. Such was Freddie's charm, sometimes. 

"You are a dear," he said softly, taking his plate from Roger and carefully putting it down on the coffee table.

"I scraped off most of the burnt bits," Roger told him, tucking into his sandwich while Freddie broke off a small piece and put it in his mouth. 

"I don't think I can keep much down, honestly," he lamented and closed his eyes again, resting the back of his hand on his forehead. "I feel rotten. I think it's safe to say I'm missing classes today." After a deep sigh, he added: "But feel free to kick me out whenever you need to."

"I'm not going anywhere today either," Roger shrugged, "I'm still sick." 'Not to mention I'm incredibly bored with it all and would rather gargle dental amalgam than do another year of this', he added mentally, not for the first time wondering how he was going to explain that to his parents. 

"Oh, that's right," Freddie opened his eyes and gently placed his hand on Roger's arm. "I ought to be looking after _you_ , dear. How are you feeling?" 

Roger gave him a small smile. "Better than you, I reckon. So don't worry about it."

"What about your important exam?"

Roger froze mid-bite. He had all but forgotten the lie he had told Freddie two days ago. "Erm... it's..." 'Think, Roger, think.' "I can re-take it another time. I called in sick before you woke up, they said it was fine."

"Oh, that's good," Freddie simply replied, and dropped the subject, which Roger was immensely grateful for. But just to be safe, he decided to quickly veer into a different topic of conversation. "Anyway, so go on then, let's hear it." 

"What?" Freddie gave him a puzzled look. 

"Oh, come on," Roger rolled his eyes. "that thing on your neck's the size of a golf ball." 

Freddie's hand immediately flew up to the offending bruise and he groaned, closing his eyes again. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Leaning over Fred's legs to put his plate down, Roger picked up his tea and leaned back again, draping one arm over the back of the sofa. "That bad?"

"Worse," Freddie replied, grimacing. "There was a girl..."

"You don't say!" 

"Shut up, Roger."

"Was she hot?" Roger grinned. 

Freddie smiled, cracking an eye open. "She was a bit of alright. You would've liked her." 

"Nice." 

"Yes, well... I kissed her and then I threw up on her shoes."

Roger all but spat out his tea. "You _what?_ You're not serious!"

"I am completely serious," Freddie said, dismayed. "It was ghastly. I've sworn off alcohol. And girls."

"Wow," Roger took a few gulps from his mug. "That's grim. I'm sorry," he narrowed his eyes, staring into space as he tried to envision that scenario. "On her _shoes?_ "

"I kid you not."

A mildly horrified expression on his face, Roger slowly turned back to Freddie and they shared a long look, before they both burst out laughing. 

"Look on the bright side," Roger snickered, "she's not going to forget you in a hurry!" 

Freddie smacked his arm, still giggling. "Laugh it up! Just don't tell anyone else, I beg you." 

Roger sucked in a breath of air between his teeth. "Ooh, I don't know if I can help myself, it's a very good story." 

"Roger, _please_ ," Freddie pleaded, and clasped Roger's hand in his own with exaggerated despair, pulling it down onto his chest. "promise you won't betray me like that!" 

It was the little moments. 

Roger's breath caught in his throat. 

He stared down at Freddie through half-hooded eyes, the smile fading from his lips. Without thinking, he spread his fingers ever so slightly underneath Freddie's hand, pressing into the warmth of his chest. It was a mere second or two, but time enough to imagine what might happen if he put down his tea. If he lowered himself on top of Fred and caught his wrist in his hand, pushing it up above Freddie's head. If he silenced those pleading lips with his own. And the sound Freddie might make if he sucked on that bruised patch of skin just above his collarbone. 

_Fuck._

"Yeah, don't worry. I won't," Roger said quickly, pulling his hand away. "Promise." 

"Thank you," Freddie sighed, flexing his feet lazily on top of Roger's lap. "You're a true friend. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

With a small smile on his lips, he reached over to break off another piece of his toasted sandwich, chewing on it contentedly. Roger watched him out of the corner of his eye, clutching his mug for dear life and trying to focus on anything but the images his mind had supplied him with. Unfortunately, it was a bit like trying not to think of a pink elephant. He took another sip and scooted as far back as the couch would let him. 

To his relief, Freddie finally decided to pull his legs away and sit up, reaching for his by now very much room temperature tea. "Oh, by the way," he said as he took a sip, "I think I heard the phone ring while I was in the shower."

No sooner had he said those words, than there were voices and footsteps outside the door, followed by a knock. Roger jumped up to open it, discreetly tugging his jumper a little further down over his jeans. 

Rarely had he been so glad at the sight of Brian and Tim, dropping in unannounced. 

\- - - 

There wasn't enough space on the sofa, so Roger sat on the floor, elbows proped up on the coffee table and his chin in his hand. He looked like a school boy, Freddie thought, both enamoured with and a little envious of his friend's delicate features. Even now, clearly under the weather and wearing an old, stretched-out jumper and scruffy jeans, Roger was so impossibly _beautiful_ that it was hard to look away. Luckily, Freddie didn't have to, because Roger was currently talking. 

"No, I've been sick all weekend, I'll have you know. But thanks for the vote of confidence," he told his friends and band mates, who had immediately assumed he was hung over upon realising he was both not at college and looking a bit unwell. "It's this one that's been out on the lash," he indicated Freddie with his thumb. 

Tim and Brian both cast him a surprised look, and Freddie shrugged and hid behind his tea cup, guilty as charged.

"Anyway," Brian said slowly, turning back to Roger with barely contained excitement on his face. "Guess where we're playing in two weeks."

"Your mum's basement," Roger said sarcastically, looking from one of his band mates to the other. "Go on, just tell me already." 

“Revolution!" Tim grinned. 

"Revolution Club?" Roger echoed, sitting up straight. "Shit, that's brilliant! When?" 

It had been almost two month since the Royal Albert Hall, Freddie knew. After all, it was right around that time when he had first met Roger and Brian. He remembered well how ecstatic they had been just after the gig, but the high had worn off and they had been hungry for another big opportunity, not wanting to lose momentum. 

"On the 19th," Brian rubbed his hands together, glancing at Tim with a grin. "We didn't think you were home, but I wanted to drop this off so we could start working on a set list soon as you got in..." 

Brian produced a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it on the coffee table. Freddie craned his neck to see that it contained a note for Roger about the upcoming gig and a proposed list of songs, but Roger and Tim immediately crowded around it and began to bounce suggestions off of each other. It became impossible to get a good look with Brian's mop of curls in the way.   
Any other day, Freddie wouldn't have hesitated to muscle his way in and give them a piece of his mind about the matter, whether they had asked for it or not (usually, they had not), but this morning he just didn't have the energy.   
Instead he listened in, quietly sipping his tea and making mental notes, until he eventually picked up his and Roger's plates to take them through to the kitchen. Busy arguing about their music, none of his three friends noticed him leaving. 

Once alone in the kitchen, Freddie dropped the plates into the sink and leaned on the counter, pouring out the rest of his cold tea. He wasn't just nauseous and physically exhausted, he realised. He was emotionally exhausted, having gone from thinking Roger wanted nothing to do with him anymore to realising what a dear friend he had in him, to feeling guilty that he had allowed himself to become so smitten.   
Raised voices from the living room, followed by laughter, pulled him back to reality. A reality in which the band was discussing their upcoming gig, and he might as well not have been there.   
Freddie hated feeling left out. When Tim had first introduced him to the other two, he had made a conscious decision that when it came to Smile, he wouldn't allow himself to be.   
Of course he was quite aware that he wasn't part of the band. But, as far as he was concerned, that was bound to change sooner or later. After all, he'd known Tim for a long time. He had grown very close, very quickly, with Roger. And Brian... he honestly couldn't quite tell with Brian. He was sure the guitarist liked him well enough, but there was probably more work left to be done on that front. Still, in Freddie's not so humble opinion, there was no conceivable reason why they seemed so reluctant to let him join Smile. Bands with more than one singer weren't unheard of, after all, and he played the piano much better than any of them. 'It's not very rock n' roll, though, is it,' Roger would say, whenever he brought that up. Freddie didn't agree. The piano was versatile. It wasn't all about guitar riffs and drum beats, one of these days he would make them see that. All it would take was a bit of convincing. 

With that in mind, Freddie put the kettle on and began to rummage through the kitchen.   
A few minutes later, he brought out two cups of tea for Brian and Tim, followed by one each for Roger and himself. The arrival of beverages broke up the discussion momentarily and Freddie jumped at the opportunity to insert himself in the conversation. 

"We need to talk about your look," he announced, immediately earning himself a mildly exasperated sigh from Tim. 

"I think the music's a bit more of a priority right now, Freddie..." Brian pointed out amicably. 

"Brian, dear, the audience have eyes," Freddie argued, "You're not making a record, you're putting on a show! Anyhow, I have some ideas and you'll love them. When are we rehearsing?" 

" _We?_ " Tim said, looking at Freddie with a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. 

Freddie looked back at him defiantly. 

"I honestly don't see why I'm not in the band already. I'm pretty sure that I know most of your songs better than you do," he said in a tone that could have been taken for friendly banter, but most certainly was not. 

A tense few moments of silence followed. Even Roger suddenly seemed to find the specks of dirt on the coffee table very intriguing. 

"I can get us a room at Imperial for a couple of evenings this week, I'm pretty sure," Brian mentioned helpfully, diffusing the situation and guiding the conversation back on track. "And definitely over the weekend." 

Both Tim and Roger nodded in agreement, while Freddie tried to recall his work schedule for the next two weeks and wondered how much longer he could put up with the soul-crushing Heathrow job. 

A little while later, Brian had to head back to university and Tim decided to leave with him. 

"I suppose I had better head home as well," Freddie said, the moment Roger had closed the door. 

"Yeah," the younger man replied with a nod, and Freddie felt oddly disappointed. Almost wounded. He wondered what exactly he had expected. 'Oh no, please, stay all day and let me look after you'? He was being ridiculous again. Roger was sick and probably wanted to rest, he had most likely already overstayed his welcome. 

Freddie rose to his feet and shook out the plaid, about to start folding it up until Roger intervened and told him it went on top of the sofa. They arranged it and tucked it in together. 

"So, uh... about the weekend..." Roger started, looking back up at him after he'd finished brushing the creases out on his end. 

"You have to rehearse, I know," Freddie said in a friendly but matter-of-factly manner. Without a hint of doubt, preparing for a gig at one of London's most famous clubs was more important than a weekend visit to Cornwall. 

"You're still invited. We'll go another time," Roger offered. 

"Of course, dear," he replied with a shrug, rounding the coffee table, and made for Roger's room to gather his belongings. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're all wondering. What otHER THING? ;-P
> 
> As always, comments are super appreciated! Seriously, I can't tell you how happy it makes me knowing people are invested in this story (because I am).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to make friends and alienate people. Or: Band rehearsals, shopping trips and faux pas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of those coming purely from the BoRhap movie fandom, just so you know, about 90% of this chapter is heavily based on real events and accounts (including the 'incident'). However, reactions to said events are, of course, anyone's guess and therefor fictional.

\- - - 

 

"Listen."

"Mhm."

"Roger?" 

" _What,_ Fred? I'm listening!" 

"You're going _dun da-ba-DUN pa tshh-_ " 

"But that's exactly what it's supposed to be." 

"Brian, _please_ darling, will you shush a moment! Sorry, _sorry_ , just-" 

"You're aware Brian wrote the bloody thing, right?" 

"Yeah, I think I have a pretty good idea how it's meant to sound." 

"I know, I know. I'm just saying, he needs to- Rog, can you- Tim, please, will you _stop_ strumming passive aggressively, I can't hear myself think-" 

"I'm not- sod off." 

"I will, dear, I promise, just let me finish? Rog, can you give it another _da-dun_ at the start." 

"Another-" 

"Yeah."

"What?"

"You know what I mean?" 

"I really don't-"

"For the love of- _da-DUN_!" 

"Oh, oh okay, yeah, _that_ clears things up." 

"Oh, my god! If you'd just listen-" 

"Guys, stop-" 

"I'm fucking listening, you twat! You're not making any goddamn sense-" 

"Will _the two of you_ stop! _Jesus bloody Christ!_ " 

"He started! I'm just-" 

"'He started-' Fucking _really?_ " 

"Wait, wait, hold up. Do you mean on the off-beat at the start- _ba-dun da ba_ -" 

" _YES_."

"Oh, alright. Fuck me, why didn't you say so." 

"Why didn't I _say_ -?!" 

"Ow! You fucker-" 

"Oh shush, that did _not_ hurt." 

"Well, this might-" 

"Okay- Rog- Right, okay- Freddie- Tim, will you stop with the- _Okay_ , if you're all quite done being _fucking five-year-olds_ can we actually give it a go then?"

\- - - 

Rehearsals were going... 

... _interesting_ , Roger thought.  
Even though Freddie wasn't _in_ the band, it was starting to feel like he was very much a part of Smile. Whenever he could spare the time, he would show up to rehearsals and simultaneously act as their biggest fan and their worst critic. 

It was both incredibly annoying and surprisingly helpful. 

Freddie had a great ear and as bizarre as his input could be at times (such as trying to teach Brian how to look cooler holding his guitar or insisting Tim should seduce the audience, whatever _that_ meant), he'd also had some interesting thoughts to share about several of their songs and always encouraged them to keep going until they had really perfected something. 

However, on the night of the _incident_ , his enthusiasm had clearly got the better of him. 

\- - - 

"That was great! One more for good luck?" 

"No." 

"Yeah, no." 

"I'm hungry."

"We're all hungry! Come on, one more time, you're so very nearly there." 

"Nearly where?" 

"Perfection, dear."

"Sounded pretty damn perfect to me." 

"I could murder a pizza." 

"Maybe I'll take you out for pizza if you play it one last time." 

"Really?" 

"Not really." 

"Aw." 

"I want Indian. D'you know a good Indian around here?" 

"Who, me? What- why would I- why would you _assume_ -"

"I didn't mean anything by it. _God_. Sorry I asked." 

"Actually, _I_ know a good Indian." 

"Oh yeah? Pricey?" 

"Not really."

"I still want pizza." 

"Hey Freddie, do you know a good Italian?" 

"Or a Chinese?" 

"Turkish?"

"Oh, piss off, all of you."

\- - - 

The changing room was littered with clothes.  
Freddie stood back, one arm around his middle, the other bent at the elbow. His wrist moved in a slow circle, subconsciously miming a twirl, as he watched Brian in the mirror. Roger was sure that Freddie had piled a quarter of the shop's inventory in here. It was lucky they knew one of the shop assistants, or he didn't think they would be getting away with it. 

"I don't know about this?" Brian was turning this way and that, trying to make sense of the enormous sleeves on the shirt he was wearing. "It's very..." 

"It's _androgynous_ , darling," Freddie offered helpfully, his fingers moving nimbly through the air as he spoke, accentuating his words. "and it has a lot of flair. Honestly, I think it suits you." 

"It's an actual girls' blouse, is what he's saying," Tim muttered from the corner, arms crossed over his chest.

"I think Fred's right, it does suit you, Bri," Roger said with a shrug, because he did think it looked surprisingly decent and because he wanted to stick up for Freddie. At least a little. After all, he thought, Freddie did have good intentions and was genuinely trying to help, even if he was going _a little_ overboard with it. 

To put it mildly. 

"You know," Brian looked almost comically serious for a moment, inspecting himself in the mirror as if he were a newly discovered star cluster. "I guess it doesn't look too bad." 

"Fantastic!" Freddie clapped excitedly, beaming with joy. Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror and his hand flew up to hide his smile as he continued. "I knew you'd come around. Now, Tim, _please_ don't be cross. And forget about that jacket. There's something else I want you to try on..." 

"I'm not cross," Tim shot back, clearly a bit cross, "I'm just bored. We've been at this for an hour, Fred." 

But he obliged regardless when Freddie beckoned him over with a gentle 'I know, dear, I know' and one of his sweet, wide-eyed, pleading looks.  
As though butter wouldn't melt. 

Roger was surprised that it still had any effect. Nerves were frayed and tempers were running high this afternoon. The last week and a half had been nothing short of exhausting for all of them. Rehearsal spaces falling through short-notice, having to transport their instruments back and forth across campus, a last minute gig at Imperial over the weekend which they'd thought was a good idea in terms of a trial run before they took on Revolution, but which actually turned out to be a _terrible_ idea in terms of adding more stress on top of an already stressful week. In hindsight, they should have just spent that time rehearsing instead. As a result, it hadn't been one of their best performances by a long shot, and had done nothing to boost their confidence ahead of their big night.  
And then, there was the _incident_. 

\- - - 

"I think- I just think maybe you shouldn't have told him we were rehearsing tomorrow night?" 

"Tim..." 

"What? I'm sorry, is it just me? Am I really the only one who thinks it's a bit-" 

"I mean-" 

"-weird?" 

"It's- you know what he's like. He just wants to help." 

"He just wants to be in the band, you mean. What? Am I wrong?" 

"No, but-" 

"It's not doing any harm, is it? I think it's quite good, having another set of ears, you know-" 

"There's already three sets of ears right here, Brian." 

"I'm just saying, I don't really mind having him around." 

"Roger?" 

"You know- He's really sorry about the other night-" 

"It's not about that! Do you really not- you know what, fine. Nevermind." 

"Mate-"

"I'll see you tomorrow." 

\- - - 

Roger could see where Tim was coming from. Really, he could. Tim had not expected - well, _nobody_ had expected - that introducing his friend Freddie from college to the band one night would result in him latching on to them the way he had done.

They all knew Freddie wanted to be in the band. He'd made that clear with all the subtlety of a flying brick to the face. Sometimes, it seemed, there was just no explaining to him that things didn't work the way he wanted them to. For one, they really weren't looking for another member. The three of them had been playing together for what felt like ages now and Smile _worked_. The truth of the matter was, while they did all like Freddie, none of them thought he would make a particularly good fit for their band. They didn't think he would make such a great fit for _anyone's_ band, if they were completely honest with each other.  
Not because he wasn't any good. 

Freddie was an absolute whiz at the piano. But oftentimes, when he improvised, his playing was more Mozart than McCartney. And he could certainly hold a tune. But while his voice was pretty strong it was also sort of _operatic_ , Roger thought, for lack of a better word. None of it was very... _rock n' roll_.  
And so, they went on politely ignoring his insistence to let him join or laughed it off as if it were a joke. Hoping that, surely, he would eventually understand that it just wasn't going to happen. 

Roger felt bad, of course. Increasingly so, the more he grew to know and like Freddie. And _like_ him he did, far too much for his own good. They had both been very busy following that lazy Monday morning the other week, and Roger couldn't decide whether he was sad or relieved that he hadn't been able to spend more than a few minutes alone with Freddie since. 

\- - - 

"Do you really think this looks alright?", Brian asked, turning to Roger, arms spread wide. 

"Yeah, I like it," Roger nodded and broke into a crooked smile. "Why, don't you trust our personal shopping assistant?" 

Brian tutted, amused. "Personal manager, more like." 

He had a point. Here they were, at Biba, just two days before their gig, trying on a myriad of outfits. All thanks to Freddie, who had finally worn them down with his talk of needing a new look for the band. His idea was to figure out what they liked, buy the bare minimum, and put the rest together borrowing from their shop at Kensington Market. Roger was the only one who didn't think this was all a bit over the top. He, too, understood the importance of a strong image and he was interested in fashion.  
In all honesty, Roger was having fun.  
Freddie, of course, was in his element. 

Meanwhile, Tim and Brian were fish out of water. 

Freddie reappeared, without their lead singer, looking back and forth between Brian and Roger. 

"Tim says he's done," he announced, trying to sound cheerful even though he was clearly on edge, "He's having a smoke outside. Roger, dear, you're sorted... Brian?" 

"Yeah, okay," Brian nodded, unbottoning the shirt he was wearing. "I'll get this then." 

"Perfect," Freddie smiled, taking the shirt from the guitarist. "I'll bring these up to the cashier's desk," he paused and looked around the dressing room with an exasperated sigh. "Could you possibly start putting all this back where it came from?" 

Before either of them had a chance to protest, he had disappeared. Brian just gaped, eyebrows raised. Roger lowered his face into the palm of his hand, smiling despite himself. 

"It's lucky Tim wasn't here for that," Brian noted with a soft chuckle, "I think he might've decked him." 

"Yeah, well," Roger started collecting some articles of clothing that were lying around, stopping to eye a pair of velour trousers which he sadly didn't have the money to buy. "I think we've all had the urge from time to time." 

And yet, it was impossible to _stay_ angry at Freddie. 

For the most part. 

\- - - 

The _incident_ had occurred two thirds into their Saturday night set at Imperial, which had admittedly already suffered from quite a few gaffes at that point. Freddie - standing in the front row - had cupped his hands together and shouted loudly enough for all to hear that if _he_ were their lead singer, he'd show them how it was done. Roger had found it so hysterical, in that moment, that he had all but lost the beat. Brian had also been more amused than anything else. It was just such a ridiculous, unexpected and inappropriate thing to do.  
It was just so... _Freddie_. 

Tim, on the other hand, had not found it funny at all. 

Which was understandable, Roger figured, considering the comment had been mainly directed at him. 

"Just give it some time, Fred," Roger had advised a very apologetic and embarrassed Freddie afterwards, who was trying to play it off as an ill-conceived joke. "He'll get over it." 

Tim did appear to get over it the following week, but none of them had any doubts anymore that if he hadn't before, he now had some regrets about ever having introduced Freddie to the rest of the band. 

\- - - 

They'd returned about half the clothes to parts of the shop - not necessarily the right parts, mind - when Brian's shop assistant friend stopped them and kindly told them she would take care of the rest. Roger was quite certain it was because they were making the mess worse, not better, but was grateful either way. 

"Thanks, Mary," Brian told her sheepishly, "I'm really sorry about all this." 

"Don't worry, it's alright," Mary said with a small smile, focusing on something behind them that drew her attention. 

Roger looked around, following her eyes, just in time to see Freddie bounding over to them, looking pleased as punch. 

"Well! Tim's decided to get that waistcoat I had picked out for him after all," he informed them, a notable hint of smugness in his voice. 

"He _decided_ , did he," Roger snorted, and Freddie raised his eyebrows at him innocently as if to say, 'what do you know?' It was pretty obvious that Tim had simply given up and let Freddie steamroll him into whatever he wanted him to do, in the end. 

"Are we all good to go?" Freddie asked, casually placing a hand on Roger's shoulder. 

"Yeah...?" Brian turned back to Mary, still looking a little uncertain, if not guilty, but she nodded encouragingly. 

"Really, it's fine. It's my job." 

Roger felt Freddie's hand slip from his shoulder as he looked back and forth between them, catching on. 

"I'm terribly sorry about the mess," he suddenly said with such sincerity that it took Roger off guard. "I'll lend you a hand..." 

_Come again?_ Roger's head snapped in Brian's direction and they shared a bemused look. Oh, _now_ he was going to help? 

Mary's smile widened, even as she lowered her eyes and excused herself with a quiet, "Don't worry about it." 

"If you're sure- Thanks- Thank you," Freddie called after her. Mary cast a glance back over her shoulder as he gave her an awkward little wave. 

'Christ's sake', Roger thought, rolling his eyes.

"Right, are we going, or...?" He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so profoundly annoyed, and chalked it up to being tired. 

"Hm?" Freddie turned back to him and snapped out of his momentary reverie. "Yes, dearies, let's get a move on." 

\- - - 

"So that's it." 

"Yup." 

"One more sleep." 

_Ba-dum tsh!_

"Less than twenty-four hours, really." 

"Damn."

"I'm excited for you." 

_Da-ba-da-ba-dum tsh!_

"I'm a bit terrified, personally, but okay." 

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll be great. You'll be fantastic, all of you." 

_Da-ba-dum tsh!_

"Rogie, can you stop? I feel like everything I'm saying is a punch line." 

"Hah! Sorry." 

"... _Rogie?_ " 

"Timmy?" 

"Hehe-" 

"No, don't. Absolutely not." 

"It's late." 

"Oh, fuck me, it's _really_ late." 

\- - - 

They parted ways as soon as they left the college campus. Tim waving goodbye as he jogged off towards South Kensington station, and Brian crossing the street to walk home. Roger glanced in the vague direction of Knightsbridge, but even though he was exhausted and couldn't wait to get home, he felt reluctant to move. Instead, he eyed Freddie, who was shuffling his feet beside him and biting at his thumb nail.  
Roger had a pretty good idea why he wasn't in a hurry. 

"Giving Tim a head start?" 

Freddie glanced up at him and dropped his hand with a sigh, an uneasy smile on his lips. 

"Wise," Roger nodded, reaching into his pocket. 

"He hates me." 

"He doesn't hate you."

" _Roger_ ," Freddie rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't _hate_ you," Roger insisted, and offered Freddie his cigarettes.

"He doesn't _love_ me."

There was no arguing with that. Freddie took one and leaned in, letting Roger light it. Then he leaned back to exhale, peering at him through the smoke. "You can go, I'll be off in a minute." 

"I know."

There was a moment of silence in which Roger made no attempt to leave. That is, if a busy London street could ever be called silent, by night or day. A steady stream of cars passed them by, bathing them in bright light and then disappearing into the distance. It was starting to drizzle. 

"Maybe don't-" Roger started and broke off, unsure how to phrase it, or whether it needed saying at all. In hindsight, he wanted to go with did not need saying at all, but it was too late for that now.  
Freddie had noticed. 

"What?" 

"You don't have to try so hard," Roger said carefully. "You know? Just let things happen."

"Let things happen?" Freddie's voice jumped up half an octave at the end of the sentence, incredulous. "Darling, if I just _let things happen_ nothing would _ever_ happen in my life. Nothing good, anyway." He clicked his tongue. "Still, note taken. You all hate me."

"Freddie... we really don't." 

"No, no, it's alright," Freddie spoke over him, "one day you'll thank me. When you have a record deal because you stood out from the crowd, and they'll say, who's your inspiration? And you'll say, oh, we suppose Freddie had something to do with it, he's a right pain in the arse, that Freddie. But turns out maybe he knew a thing or two!" 

Roger waited, eyebrows raised. "You done?" 

Freddie exhaled smoke through his nose, giving him a sideways glance. "Yes." 

When Roger said nothing, Freddie caught his eye again and the tension slowly drained from his face, voice softening. 

"I'm sorry," he sighed, scratching the tip of his nose with his knuckle. "I'm really tired." 

And he looked it, Roger thought, really taking in the sight of him for the first time in a while. He had been so preoccupied with his own life that he hadn't really stopped to think how Freddie had even managed to come to as many rehearsals as he had, considering he also had classes, work and a long commute to contend with. Not to mention Roger had left their stall to him almost entirely this whole week. Now that he was looking, he noticed the dark circles under Freddie's eyes and the hint of stubble on his face, which was a rare sight as he was usually immaculately clean-shaven. 

"Thank you, by the way," Roger said, and meant it. Freddie looked at him, confused and almost cautious. As if he thought the words might have been sarcastic and a joke at his expense was to follow.

"What for?" 

Roger finished his cigarette with one last, long drag and flicked it into the road. "Well," he exhaled, "I reckon you've put in as much work as any of us, and it's not like you had to. So, I appreciate that." 

Freddie's expression very quickly cycled through positively bewildered, to genuinely touched, to a proud grin he couldn't seem to contain even though he covered it up. Roger, in turn, couldn't help but smile. 

"Why, thank you very much, dear. Finally _some_ one notices," Freddie was saying, his tone dramatic - over the top - masking the real emotion behind it. 

Then he finished his cigarette, checked his watch and gasped, "Shit! I'm going to miss the last train." 

"Go, _go!_ " Roger all but shoved him in the direction of the tube station, well aware what a nightmarish night bus journey Feltham had to be. 

Freddie took off running, slowing down briefly to turn back over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow! It'll be great!" 

"GO!" Roger yelled, laughing, and watched him disappear into the night.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I wouldn't bring Mary into this, didn't ya! Don't worry, we're all still pretty clear on the main focus in this story. And we all know Freddie had a lot of love to give.
> 
> Speaking of love... I'd love it if you leave me a comment! :-*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is having the best night of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to this round of Queen trivia:  
> \- Smile did briefly have a record deal in 1969.  
> \- Freddie used to play air guitar while dancing on tables at Ealing College.
> 
> Now you know as much as I knew when I wrote this chapter. ;)

\- - - 

Freddie stood at the side of the stage, hidden away in the shadows, mouthing along to every word and quietly bobbing to the beat. His hands were restless, one moment subtly miming Roger's drumming, then Brian's guitar the next. Every fibre of him wanted to be up on that stage, so much so that it felt like an actual, physical need, an ache in his chest and a sickly hollow feeling in his gut which he knew only the adoration of the crowd could cure. 

But it wasn't him in the spotlight. It was Roger, Tim and Brian, who were frankly doing an outstanding job. So he settled for the next best thing, and lived the experience vicariously through them, banishing the bitterness of envy and that painful longing to the far reaches of his mind.  
The loud cheering and applause from the audience when their last number finished raised goosebumps on his skin, and just for a moment, he caught Roger's eye. The young drummer's chest was heaving and he was drenched in sweat, drumsticks held high above his head and a look of pure elation on his face. Freddie lifted a hand to his mouth and whooped loudly, then clapped his hands, a wide grin on his face. Roger winked and turned back to his band mates as they were about to start an encore. 

Everyone agreed that they had outdone themselves that night. The moment they came off stage, the boys punched the air and jumped into each other's arms, shouting over each other and laughing. Freddie was swept up in it all, receiving hugs and pats on the back from Brian, Roger and even Tim in turn. The mood was euphoric. 

Once everyone was in a more or less presentable state, sweaty shirts discarded in the dressing room in a haste and instruments secured in Tim's mate's Volkswagen camper, they headed to the club bar for well-deserved celebratory drinks.  
The three musicians were greeted with compliments and congratulations from friends who had come to see them play, and a fair amount of female attention. Roger was - Freddie could plainly tell - the proverbial cat that got the cream, all too happy to lap it all up. 

Not half an hour after they had arrived at the bar, he was leaning in to show Freddie his palms while he waited for a fresh pint to be poured. 

"Check it out!" 

Both of his palms were adorned with a different girl's name and phone number. 

"You're out of hands," Freddie pointed out with a small smirk, lifting his drink to his lips, the oath to never drink again forgotten. 

Reaching for his glass as it was handed to him, Roger gestured to the rest of his body and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Plenty of other places." 

And he was gone again, sidling up to a small group of young women at the end of the bar as if it were nothing. Freddie sipped his lager and lime, the only version of lager he was willing to tolerate, although he already mildly regretted getting it, and watched his friend from across the bar. The ease of Roger's charm, the innocuous way in which his hands grazed an arm or the small of someone's back as he spoke. Inviting, intriguing, just enough to awaken an interest. This was Roger on the prowl, and Freddie knew it well. Beyond a shadow of doubt, he would be leaving with one of those girls tucked under his arm in roughly two more drinks' time.

Freddie felt a pang of disappointment. There was little chance now that he would get to exchange so much as another few words with the younger man.  
He missed spending time with him. Which was ridiculous in itself, because he had just spent two weeks in Roger's company almost every day. But not _alone_ , he thought, wistfully recalling the night he had stumbled into Roger's flat, and the morning after. Once again, he felt like he was expecting the improbable. In what world would Roger pass up a shag when he was this spoiled for choice in favour of... what? Some twenty minutes of quality time, at most, chatting to Freddie at the bar? 

At that very moment, Roger flicked his hair out of his face and turned his head. It took Freddie a second to realise that he was looking directly at _him_ , and that he, in turn, was still intently staring at Roger. It was so unexpected because usually Roger's attention was singular once he was at this stage of the game. It was part of his appeal, no doubt. The undivided attention he appeared to give, even if it would only last long enough to entice a girl into his arms. But there he was, smiling a crooked smile at Freddie from across the room. 

Freddie raised his eyebrows, hiding a grin behind his drink, and wondered why he was grinning like an idiot in the first place. 

Roger turned away for a moment to answer a question one of the girls was asking him. The girls laughed at his reply and Roger looked back over at him, nodding toward the ladies ever so subtly. 

Freddie realised he must have looked confused, because Roger nodded his head toward them again, more insistently. 

_Get over here._

Oh. 

Without stopping to think about it, Freddie gave a small shake of his head. A part of him was still scarred from the embarrassing disaster two weeks ago. 

Roger nodded yes. 

Freddie shook his head no again. Rolling his eyes, Roger turned back to the girls. 

Maybe later, Freddie thought. He wasn't in the mood right now to mingle with strangers, let alone try and chat up girls. It was such an effort, and he just wanted to relax and enjoy himself. Turning his back to the bar, Freddie took a look around the room to see who he might go and talk to instead. Brian was nowhere to be seen for the moment and Tim was chatting to some of their Ealing College friends. Freddie had just about decided to make his way over there when he happened to cast another glance in Roger's direction - and froze, his drink halfway to his lips. 

All three girls were now looking at him, and so was Roger, who was also talking. Very evidently talking about _him_. He gave Freddie a cheery little wave, beckoned the girls along and began to make his way over through the crowd. Freddie turned his head away, momentarily wondering how it might look if he simply fled. 

"Fuck's sake-" he muttered with a desperate little sigh, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and looked up again just in time to hear Roger say:

"Ladies, may I introduce you to my good friend, Frederick Bulsara," Roger was grinning from ear to ear, looking ever so pleased with himself. Freddie glared at him, lips pursed tightly over his teeth. 

"Roger said you're a musician as well?" One of the girls asked, cocking her head curiously as she sized him up. 

"Um..."

"He's brilliant on the piano, truly," Roger immediately assured her, clearly having an absolute ball of a time doing _whatever the fuck he thought this was_ , "And he's an artist, too. Didn't I mention? _Very_ talented fingers, all around." 

Roger took a sip from his glass while Freddie continued to stare him down, wishing the plague on his head. 

"That's so cool," the blonde standing closest to Roger said, "I'd love for someone to draw me..." 

"Well, he mostly draws nudes," Roger informed them, completely nonchalant. The girls giggled and shared a few looks between them. Freddie wanted to crawl inside his pint glass and die, but had to settle for a few long gulps instead. 

"I study art and graphic design, actually," he finally managed to get out.

The first girl, a freckled red-head with a Scottish accent, spoke up again. "Are you in a band as well?"

"N-," started Freddie. 

"Yes!" exclaimed Roger, nodding at Freddie enthusiastically. "They're really underground, you've probably never heard of them. Very avant-garde. What's your band called again, Fred?" 

Freddie was going to murder him in cold blood. 

"The _Lying Bastards_ ," he replied pointedly, narrowing his eyes at Roger, who snorted into his glass and almost inhaled his beer. 

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, "anyway, Fred, what do you say we buy these ladies a-" 

He never finished the sentence because in that moment, Brian all but ran up to them, looking both pale as a sheet and absolutely ecstatic. 

"Roger!" he beamed, trying to contain himself, then looked around. "Where's Tim?" 

"He's over there," Freddie pointed to their lead singer, frowning at Brian's sudden exuberance. "What's going on, dear?" 

"You're not gonna believe it! Sorry, hi-," he acknowledged the girls, who were watching him with interest, then realised they were still one band member short. "TIM! Come over here, come!" 

People around them turned to look, to see what the shouting was all about. Excusing himself from the conversation, Tim made his way over. 

"What's up?" 

"Um, alright. Okay, so," Brian tried to pull himself together, gesticulating wildly with his hands as he spoke. "I was talking to this American guy, Lou. Lou Reizner? Actually, he came up to me. Said he loved our sound... and our look," he gave Freddie a grin and a little nod, "and- and he was asking me the usual questions, and then he tells me, he's from a record label."

"Fuck off!" Roger exchanged a quick look with Freddie. 

"Yes, really!" Brian continued. "Mercury Records, he's working with The Who and-" 

"And?!" Tim grabbed the guitarist's arm, eyes wide. 

"And he- _they_ , they're really interested in us! He was in a rush to leave, but we have a meeting on Monday to talk about it, properly," Brian was laughing, breathless with excitement, "to talk about signing a record deal!" 

What followed could only be described as an uproar of emotion. Tim threw both arms up in the air, Roger literally jumped for joy, spilling some of his drink, high fives and hugs were exchanged amidst laughter and exclamations of sheer disbelief. The girls were in awe, clearly having witnessed what everyone was sure would be the beginning of a glorious ascent to rock 'n roll fame.

Envy was an ugly thing. 

Freddie stood by, a forced smile on his face as he watched his one shot at greatness slip away. 

He who had always believed that the band could make it big. Only in his mind, he was part of it when that happened. More so, he was the _reason_ it happened.  
Because this was meant to happen to _him_. 

"Did you hear that, Fred!" Roger was shouting, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Yeah," Freddie tried to match the excitement and failed. Not that anyone paid him enough mind to notice. "That's great. Really... so great." 

Envy was giving way to guilt as he watched a circle of friends and acquaintances form around them, people drawn in by the commotion wanting to see what the fuss was all about. 

He was a terrible person, and a worse friend still. 

How could he stand here, feeling sorry for himself instead of being happy for Roger, Brian and Tim? They deserved this. They had been working toward this and had all the talent and drive it took to get this far. 

All _he_ had was an imaginary band with a stupid name and unrealistic expectations. 

_Stop it._

_Snap out of it._

Freddie swallowed bitterness and disappointment, and lifted his glass, washing it all down with the rest of his drink. 

_Don't be a selfish prick._

He brought his glass down onto the bar with a resounding clang and lifted his hands, proclaiming with all the enthusiasm he could muster:

"This calls for champagne, lovies!" 

Cheers of agreement erupted. 

"SHOTS!" Roger yelled, and that got a louder cheer still. 

They ended up ordering both. 

\- - - 

Roger was certain beyond a shadow of doubt that he was having what had to be the best night of his life. He had no idea what time it was, other than _very late_ or perhaps, at this point, very early. There was a beer in his hand, a pretty blonde in his lap, and a great vibe in this place.

But best of all, he was going to be _famous_. Roger Taylor was going to be a rock 'n roll star, and nothing was going to stop him. 

The fact that no contract had been signed yet seemed like a minor detail. None of them had stopped to think about it, really. They were young, they were the next big thing, and the night was theirs. 

They had ended up in a basement flat in Shepherd's Bush, right near Roger's own place, so even getting home wouldn't be an issue. That said, he had no idea who lived here, other than a bloke called Paul whom he had never met before. But Freddie seemed to know him, so he had to be part of the Ealing College crowd. Perhaps a dozen people or so had crowded into the small apartment and occupied every part of it, drinking, smoking, talking, laughing, making out and miraculously, no one had called the police on them yet. Brian was sitting on the floor with a couple of friends, deeply involved in a passionate discussion about what Roger assumed was either politics or animal rights. On the sofa, Tim had his head in the lap of a smiling brunette who was running her fingers through his hair while they shared a smoke. 

Meanwhile, Kathy - Katie? Claire? Oh, well - was kissing a trail up Roger's neck, her hand tucked into the front of his shirt while his fingers had found their way up her skirt, lazily exploring where they could. She was wearing tights, which made matters rather more difficult, but at this point he wasn't chasing a goal. For one, he was really quite drunk and probably not just that. Spliffs had begun to make the rounds hours ago and he had happily partaken. Now the sweet, spicy scent of marijuana was thick in the air, the mood of the party decidedly mellow. 

Somebody had swapped The Kinks for the new Beatles album on the record player. Lennon was lamenting _Sexy Sadie_ and Roger felt as though the ambling rhythm and melancholy tune of the song permeated him to his very bones. 

Alright, so he was very definitely high. 

Freddie seemed to have disappeared, Roger noticed, absently wondering if his friend had perhaps finally made a move on that Scottish lass who'd been throwing herself at him all night. However, the thought was forgotten when Kelly - Kara? Wait, was it Kristy? - pressed her lips to his cheek and Roger turned toward her and into a slow, sloppy kiss. 

"Be right back," she murmured against his lips, breaking the kiss after a few moments, "Don't go anywhere." 

The latter was added in jest, but Roger was being quite genuine when he replied. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

Keira - Clara? Claudia? _goddammit_ \- climbed off him and adjusted her skirt, before making her way to the bathroom. 

Roger stretched and finished his beer, leaning his head back and melting into the armchair. He never wanted this night to end. 

And then, the music changed and it seemed to send a ripple through the room. A fast and raunchy guitar riff, jarring with the dreamy feel of the previous song. It was the sort of song that made you want to jump up and move. Someone turned the music up just in time for the verse. 

_When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide, and I stop, and I turn, and I go for a ride-_

Roger sat up straighter and bobbed his head to the beat, a smile on his lips. He wasn't the only one. Voices grew louder and more excited again, roused by the dirty rock n' roll feel of the track. 

Freddie reappeared. No, Roger thought, that wasn't the right word. 

He _made an entrance_ with such deliberate pizzazz that heads turned. Appearing seemingly out of nowhere, he suddenly stood in the doorway to the kitchen, legs wide and one arm extended all the way up against the doorframe, clutching a spatula in the other hand as if it were a microphone. 

"Do you, don't you want me to love you!" he sang - well, shouted - just in time with the song, and turned, provocatively sliding down with his back against the doorframe and back up again. "I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you!" 

There was particular enthusiasm among the Ealing students, who seemed familiar with the display. 

"Here we go!" 

"Alright! Bulsara!" 

Freddie sashayed across the room to cheering and laughter and made straight for the dining table, next to which Roger was sitting. He just about managed to move out of the way as Fred used his armrest as a foothold and leapt up on the table. 

"Well, you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer!" he sang into his spatula, and then promptly transformed it into a guitar, rocking out to the chorus. 

_Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter..._

The people standing closest to the table rushed to remove their glasses and stray beer bottles. Roger laughed and cheered, wondering how in the world Freddie was able to move like that when he was pretty sure that he himself couldn't stand upright anymore at this point if he tried. 

And _move_ Freddie did. Whipping his hair side to side with a flick of his head, shoulders shimmying, hips swaying to the rhythm. 

Of course, Roger knew Fred could dance.  
Of course, he'd seen him dance before. 

But not like _this_. 'Christ,' he thought, mesmerised, 'that's hot.' His inebriated mind allowed the thought to linger, free of judgement and inhibition.

"Now will you, will you want me to make you," Freddie sang when the second verse started, messing up the lyrics - not that anyone cared - and dropped to his knees, head thrown back with the spatula held high and hips thrust forward. "I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you!" 

Roger swallowed, eyes firmly on the dark-haired man in front of him, and felt a surge of... _something_. He couldn't name it, in that moment, because his mind was barely aware of it. But he felt it in his gut. A deep, visceral longing. 

Half-shouting, half-gasping his way through to the end of the second verse, Freddie bent over backward and dropped onto the table, one leg stretched out and one tucked underneath him, shredding his air guitar. It earned him gasps and shrieks of laughter. Someone whistled loudly. 

Freddie laughed as well, still playing his spatula with impressive commitment. He freed his other leg, pushed himself off and slid along the table on his back until his head dropped over the edge, hair brushing over the armrest of Roger's chair. 

They locked eyes and Roger's heart was in his throat. 

The neighbours had finally had enough. There was a loud banging from the floor above. Paul rushed to turn down the music. Everyone dissolved into hushed giggles, shushing each other and listening out for any more complaints from above. 

The show was over. 

Except Freddie and Roger hadn't moved. It felt as though everything around them had faded to black. Roger's hand lifted before he was aware of it, fingers grazing Freddie's skin. Smooth and hot at the base of his neck, a little rough with stubble along his jaw and cheek, hair soft as silk. Roger's fingers tangled in it just as his mind finally caught up with what he was doing. Before he could think to pull his hand away, Freddie sat up.  
Roger stared at his fingers for a moment as if they were alien to him, then lifted his eyes up to the man sitting on the table, his back turned. Had he really just fucking _caressed_ Freddie's face? 

_Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter..._

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a cliffhanger! :O
> 
> Honestly, I don't know about you reading this, but just writing it was a fucking roller-coaster ride of emotion. I can't tell you how much fun I'm having with this. 
> 
> Please let me know if you're having fun reading it, too? :-* Or not, either way! Love to hear your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games, until someone gets hurt. Or: Mistakes are made. Alcohol is involved. (A reprise.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, no real life events were harmed in the making of this chapter! (Except for the fact that Freddie really wasn't a big fan of excessive drinking and mind altering substances at this stage.)
> 
> Having said that, my god, writing this was... Well, I think I need a drink now.

\- - - 

Freddie's heart was pounding in his chest and his head spun, but the latter was from sitting up too fast rather than the alcohol. While everyone had been drinking steadily for the last five hours or so, he had been politely declining shots and trying to pace himself as much as he could, given the circumstances. That was to say, he was definitely quite tipsy, but he absolutely did not need or fancy a repeat of two weeks ago. 

However, he was starting to think that perhaps he'd drunk more than he thought. Surely he couldn't have imagined what had just happened? 

His cheeks were burning. His eyes darted around the room quickly. No one seemed to have taken any notice. No one seemed to have seen Roger running his fingertips all the way up his neck and over his cheek, tugging at his hair in a way that had sent a jolt of excitement straight to his core. Drawing a shaky breath, Freddie slowly turned back over his shoulder. 

Roger was looking at him intently, his mouth slightly agape, an unreadable expression on his face. Neither of them seemed to know what to do or say. There was a lot of things Freddie _wanted_ to say. 

_I liked that._

_I like_ you. 

_Can_ I _touch you?_

But none of those were an option. 

So he just slid off the table awkwardly and stood leaning against it, with the spatula in his hand. And then Roger did the one thing that made everything better. He raised his eyebrows, almost apologetically, and smiled. It was a knowing smile. A cheeky smile. As innocent as it was suggestive. Freddie couldn't help but smile back, biting his lip.  
Suddenly, there was a secret only the two of them shared and it was _exciting_ , even though he wasn't sure what exactly it was. 

Roger opened his mouth to speak. 

Only, in that moment, his blond girlfriend returned with her red-head friend in tow, the former hopping back onto his lap with a giggle and the latter all but throwing her arms around Freddie's neck. Freddie reluctantly turned his attention to her and realised she was saying something to him. What, he wasn't quite sure, so he just nodded and smiled. He'd honestly struggled to understand her accent all night and it had only become more difficult the more drink was involved. God only knew the things he had probably agreed to this evening. 

"Oh, I'm sorry I missed that!" Carrie, the blonde, chimed in, casting some light on whatever it was her friend Tricia had just said to him. 

"Yeah... it was quite the show," Roger said, still looking at him, a twinkle in his eye that made Freddie's heart beat faster. 

Carrie leaned close to Roger's ear and whispered something that captured his attention. His hands moved to her thighs as she straddled his lap, leaning in for a messy kiss. 

Freddie turned away, feeling a twinge of disappointment, although really, once again, he didn't know what else he could possibly have expected. Looking up at his own female companion for the night, who was leaning into him and smiling coyly, he very much knew what was expected of _him._

Oh, well. 

It wasn't the first time he had kissed someone just because it seemed rude not to. And it wasn't the most uncomfortable he had felt doing so, either. At this point he figured this had to be how most people felt about kissing someone they didn't have feelings for. A part of him wondered why everyone was so bloody keen on it, given that it didn't really seem like all it was cracked up to be, the majority of the time. 

Especially when he could barely focus on the girl at all, because all he could think about was what had just happened with Roger. And what he had been about to say, before they were interrupted. Without breaking the kiss - because then he might have to try and talk to her again, and honestly, he didn't know that he really wanted to do much more of that, either - Freddie opened his eyes just a little, unable to resist sneaking another glance in the direction of the couple in the armchair beside him. They were also still kissing. However, even as he watched them, Roger's eyes opened and found his. Freddie instinctively averted his gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring. But something about the way Roger had looked at him just then piqued his curiosity. The fact that he had looked at him _at all_ , almost as though he was hoping to find him watching.

Tricia decided to move on to his earlobe and Freddie exhaled slowly, discarding the spatula he was still stupidly holding and turning his head to the side. 

Now he was essentially facing Roger and the girl, and so he looked again. Sure enough, not a moment later, so did Roger. His gaze was heavy, loaded with desire - which was no surprise, given that there was a girl in his lap, grinding against him.  
But that look was not intended for _her_. Freddie shuddered, watching through his lashes as Roger wound his fingers through her hair and pulled her head toward his shoulder, bringing his mouth down on her neck while over the top of her head, his eyes remained firmly on him. And in that moment, the intent in those eyes, pale dark blue in the dim light, seemed perfectly clear. 

_Watch. This is what I'd like to do_ to you. 

But it couldn't be. 

But it _was_. 

Holding his gaze, Roger slowly licked up her neck and then grazed her skin with his teeth. There was a whimper, a weak keening sound and Freddie realised that it had come from him. 

What the fuck was _happening_ here? 

He felt as confused as he was turned on, which was to say, _very_. His grip on the girl's waist tightened, for support more than anything, because his knees felt like they might give out at any moment. She leaned back, arms around his neck, and he kissed her again because he had to do _something_. Only in his mind, hers were not the lips he was kissing. 

Oh god, _oh god_. 

All this time, Freddie had done his absolute best to stop himself thinking of Roger _in that way_ , because had he not, it would have become unbearable to be around him so much. The number of times he had ignored these thoughts and pushed them out of his mind, anything to lessen the effect he already knew the younger man was having on him. But here they were now, all those carefully repressed thoughts, because here was Roger, doing _this_ to him- whatever this was. And he was painfully aroused just thinking about kissing him, thinking about the featherlight touch of fingertips on his skin, imagining what he himself might do if he were granted permission to touch. Kiss. _Feel._

All while kissing someone else. 

A sense of wrongness, loss of control and panic slowly crept in, taking a hold of him with familiar expertise.  
It twisted his stomach in knots. 

It was too much.

Freddie pulled back and separated himself from Tricia, murmuring a quick 'be right back' before he made for the bathroom. Luckily, someone was just leaving it.  
Freddie brushed past them, closed the door, bolted it shut and leaned back against it. Swallowing hard, he reached down and adjusted himself carefully. His trousers were as tight as he was currently hard, and it wasn't exactly comfortable. 

_Bloody hell._

He took a couple of steps forward and leaned on the sink, staring down into the drain. 

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

He wasn't sober, for one. Whatever he thought and felt now, was most likely blown out of proportion by the booze. And if _he_ wasn't sober, then Roger had to be smashed. It was always hard to tell, with Roger. He wasn't a very obvious drunk, but Freddie had certainly seen him drink more than his fair share tonight. 

Surely that explained a thing or two, he told himself, even though a part of him felt that it really didn't. Still, who knew what Roger would make of the night's events tomorrow morning? Who knew if he would even remember them? 

Freddie closed his eyes, trying to think as clearly as his fuzzy mind permitted. 

"Okay, okay, okay..." 

Unbelievably, for whatever reason, Roger was coming on to him. Fuck. _Okay?!_ How had his night suddenly gone from an attempt to drink away his own disappointment while celebrating his friends' success, to what felt like a fantasy come true? Only, in his fantasies he wasn't locked in a dingy bathroom, trying not to panic. 

_Breathe._

_Think._

Before he did anything incredibly, _incredibly_ foolish that he would come to regret as early as the next morning - or worse, that Roger would come to regret and hate him for the next morning - he had to put things into perspective.  
He couldn't trust himself to make good decisions right now, and he could trust Roger even less, in that regard. 

Right. 

It was time to call it a night then. Go home. Or go... somewhere. He wasn't going to attempt making his way all the way home at this hour. It would take forever. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he had only stayed this long hoping that perhaps, somehow, he might sleep over at Roger's again. But that was out of the question now.

Someone tried the door handle and Freddie turned around, realising he couldn't stay locked away in the bathroom much longer, either. Then he turned back and looked up at the mirror, only to grimace in horror at his own reflection. Had he been out there looking like this? _Good Lord._ His hair was an absolute disaster.  
Ignoring renewed attempts at the door handle, he turned on the water and combed wet fingers through his hair until he deemed it presentable enough. Then he took one last, deep breath, unlocked the door and shouldered his way past the impatient bloke waiting outside. His eyes immediately fell on Brian, who was just making his way to the kitchen. Freddie caught up with him in the doorway. 

"Hey, Brian?" 

"Yeah?" the tall lad turned to him and raised his eyebrows, a little unsteady on his feet.  
God, they were all so _drunk._

"Oh, hey, that was a... groovy performance, there." Brian added, before Freddie could say anything, and started chuckling. "The spatula...!" 

"Cheers, darling," Freddie played with the tips of his damp hair, waiting for Brian to stop laughing.  
God, they were all so _baked._

That was another thing Freddie had been declining politely all night, simply because he didn't find that it did as much for him as it seemed to for others. He didn't enjoy being lethargic and unable to focus, and if he wanted to feel even more paranoid with an oncoming headache, he might as well have stayed home with a cheap bottle of red wine. 

"I-I don't suppose I can kip down at yours tonight?" he asked hopefully, when Brian seemed to have calmed down a bit. 

The taller man patted him on the shoulder. "'Course you can. I'll prolly be off in a bit, though." 

'Perfect', Freddie thought. "Yeah, that's fine," he said. 

"Neat," Brian checked his watch, frowning at it as if it couldn't possibly be correct. "Holy mackerel, Batman!" 

Chris, a bloke Freddie knew from college, was in earshot and shouted: "Holy hole in a doughnut, Batman!" Before being shushed by the others around them, even as Brian and Chris descended into giggles. 

"Holy house party, Batman!" 

"Shhhh...!"

"Alright then," shaking his head with a smile, Freddie rolled his eyes and left them to it. At least that was sorted. 

Trying to act as casual as humanly possible, and feeling like he wasn't succeeding very well, Freddie crossed the room to rejoin Roger and the girls. Things seemed to have cooled down somewhat since he had left. Carrie was reclining across Roger's lap, one arm around his neck, talking to Tricia, who was sitting on the edge of the table. The two girls didn't see him approach, but Roger did.  
In fact, Freddie was pretty certain he had been watching him the entire time from across the room. The moment their eyes met, Freddie's heart was back in his throat, tingling excitement flooding his chest and the pit of his stomach.  
For crying out loud. This was ridiculous. Roger wasn't even doing anything other than looking at him. 

'You okay?' the fair-haired man mouthed silently.

Freddie gave him a little nod in response and felt that grin coming on again. The secretive, knowing grin which he couldn't wipe off his face even if he tried, and he _was_ trying. But Roger returned it and for a brief moment, Freddie lost all resolve to be sensible. 

To hell with it. To hell with everything. Given half a chance, he would kiss Roger tonight until neither of them could breathe. 

The girls noticed him as he came up to the table and welcomed him back, while Freddie did his best to not be a complete ass and acknowledge Tricia's existence, even if it was with feigned interest. 

"I think..." Carrie drawled, leaning over the side of the armchair and picking up an empty beer bottle, "we should play a game." 

"Oh yeah?" Roger squeezed her arse, making her giggle. "What's the game?" 

Freddie noticed his hand was under her skirt, and some of his resolve began to return. Was it possible that, in his current state, Roger would pretty much cop off with anyone who was free and willing? The very thought of being just another one of Roger's numerous drunken conquests made him feel ill. He didn't want _that_. He didn't want that at all. 

"Spin the bottle, of course," Carrie announced, dangling the empty bottle in front of his face. "Are you in?" 

"I'll play," Tricia nudged Freddie. "How about you?" 

"What?" Freddie blinked, realising he hadn't been paying attention at all. 

"Spin the bottle!" the girls said in chorus, looked at each other, and laughed. 

"Are you lot playing spin the bottle?" Someone else asked, having overheard them. 

"Yeah!" 

The suggestion was garnering a fair amount of interest. 

"Oi, they're playing spin the bottle." 

"Wait, what version though?" 

"What do you mean, what version? The one with the bottle." 

Laughter erupted in their corner of the room.

"SHH!" 

"You 'shh'!" 

"No, yeah, obviously but... truth or dare or the one where you have to kiss?" The brunette sitting on the sofa next to Tim wanted to know. 

"Ooh, I like the sound of that last one," Paul chuckled. 

"You would!" Tim shouted. 

"But who has to kiss?" 

"What?" 

"Everyone."

"So, like... two chicks, as well, or...?" 

A rumble of giggles and 'oooh's went through the room. 

Roger piped up. "Hey, if you ladies wanna kiss each other... I mean... that's fine by me." 

Plenty of the other male students nodded in agreement, elbowing each other and exchanging grins. 

"Hold up," Carrie looked at him pointedly, jabbing his chest with her index finger, "And what if it's two blokes?" 

The very same young men who had just agreed with such eager excitement all broke out in very passionate exclamations of disagreement. Freddie found himself joining them without a second thought, adamantly shaking his head with a mildly horrified expression. If there was anything he wanted to do even _less_ than kissing a bunch of random women with a group of people watching, it was having to kiss any of the blokes, _especially_ Roger, as part of a stupid, drunken game, with a group of people watching. 

However, Roger was looking at him, his expression somewhere between genuine confusion and amusement. 

"Aww, well why the hell not, Fred?" he pouted, "You've snogged blokes before, you said it's not any different!" 

Freddie felt his heart stop, no longer aware of the chatter around them or the music. His smile slipped and his stomach dropped as the two girls turned to look at him. 

"What?" Carrie asked uncertainly. 

He felt sick. He didn't dare turn around, but he was sure that just like her, the whole room had to be staring at him. All of them had to have heard and understood every word of that.

He couldn't breathe. 

\- - - 

It took Roger about half a minute to understand that something had gone horribly wrong, and that it was too late to undo the damage. 

"Oh," he started, realising what he had just done, "I mean-" 

Before he could say anything else, Freddie gave him a wounded look that made his heart sink and _bolted._

Leaving behind his beloved fur coat and ignoring his friends, he strode to the door, tore it open and slammed it shut behind him. 

"What's got into him?" Tim craned his neck, peering at the door as if it might have an answer written on it. 

"I... I made a very bad... joke," Roger was trying to lift the girl off his lap, gently but urgently. "Shit, Katie, _please_ -"

"It's _Carrie_ ," she shot him an annoyed look as she got to her feet. 

"Oh, that's it, my bad," he gave her hand a quick, apologetic squeeze, "Sorry, Carrie, I'll be back in a bit..." Then, thinking fast, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, stopping to whisper in her ear: "Don't tell _anyone_ what I just said to him. Please, I'm begging you."

Holding her hand tightly, Roger leaned back and met her eyes. Carrie gave him a small nod.

"Bad joke," she said with a knowing smile. 

"Very bad," Roger sighed and mouthed 'thank you' before he hurried to the door to follow Freddie outside. Almost falling over himself on his way up the stairs, he ran out into the street and looked both ways, panicking for a moment that he was too late to catch up with him. It was damp and misty outside, in both directions the road seemed to lead nowhere but into a thick, white haze in the distance. 

"Shit," Roger muttered, running a hand through his hair. But just then, his eyes fell on a slouched figure at the other side of the road, sitting on a low wall in the dark. 

_Oh, thank fuck._

"Fred?" he called cautiously. The night was so chilly he could see his breath. It was a clammy, sobering cold, like standing inside a rain cloud. 

Freddie looked up and quickly wiped his face on his sleeve, then wordlessly jumped off the wall and started walking away from him down the road. 

"Fred, wait-" Roger crossed the street and went after him, "I'm sorry, that was a really dumb, inappropriate thing to say. Fred- Freddie! Just fucking _wait_! Come on... I'm trying to apologise!" 

Freddie stopped and turned around, fixing him with a glare that brought Roger to a halt. Of course he had realised Fred was angry. But he hadn't quite realised how angry. 

"Who else did you tell?" he hissed, his voice quiet but dangerous. 

"What?" Roger frowned, taking a small step toward him, "No one. Absolutely no one, I would never..." he broke off and rubbed his forehead, knowing fully well that he just _had_ , "I mean, that just... slipped out. I didn't mean to say it, then."

"Just slipped out-" Freddie scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. 

"I wasn't _thinking_ ," Roger took another couple of steps closer, Freddie immediately took a step back. 

That hurt. 

"I'm _sorry_ ," Roger pleaded, lifting a hand to his chest, "I haven't told a soul, cross my heart."

Freddie shrugged. 

"I suppose it doesn't really matter, because you've just fucking well told _everybody_ ," he said coldly, but his voice broke on the last word. 

Roger felt a sudden bout of exasperation. "Fuck me, Fred, don't you think you're overreacting just a bit? No one in there even fucking heard me! I promise you-" 

"You were the only one-" Freddie spoke over him, voice shaking with emotion, and suddenly advanced on him until they stood face to face, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. 

"The _only_ one," he repeated, eyes glistening in the dark, "who knew that about me. The only one I told."

Roger stood before him, slack-jawed and helpless, as the full scale of the colossal breach of trust he had so foolishly, accidentally committed finally dawned on him. He hadn't thought-

He just really hadn't thought. 

_Shit_. 

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly, his own voice suddenly strained and unsteady, "I fucked up." 

"No," Freddie shook his head sadly, staring at the ground, " _I_ did. I trusted you." 

Roger's chest tightened painfully. 

" _Please_ ," his hand shot out, catching Freddie's wrist as he turned to walk away. The older man stopped and tried to shake him off, to no avail. 

"Get off-" 

"No," Roger said stubbornly, not at all sure what he was trying to achieve. 

Freddie tried to free himself again, more forcefully, and seemed surprised when it proved more difficult than he had anticipated. Everyone always underestimated Roger's strength. It was the drumming, he figured. 

"Roger, let go!" Freddie snapped at him. 

"No!" Roger insisted, fully aware that he was probably being ridiculous, but too upset and drunk to care, "I'm not just- just fucking letting you leave like this, it's four in the fucking morning and you don't even know where the fuck you're going!" 

"I'm walking to Hammersmith to catch the night bus, you stupid arse, I'm not a fucking child!" Freddie all but screamed at him, and finally yanked his hand free as Roger released his grip. 

"If you follow me," Freddie added hotly, rubbing his wrist, "I'll punch you, so help me god." 

And with that, he turned on his heel and marched down the street, until his silhoutte disappeared into the foggy night.  
Roger exhaled a shuddering breath and ran his hands over his face. His eyes were burning. His hands shook. 

"Fuck," he murmured, looking about himself helplessly, physically trying to get away from the wrenching feeling of despair in his gut. Only there was no escaping it. Suddenly furious, he clenched his teeth and kicked the brick wall beside him with a frustrated growl. " _FUCK_!" 

It hurt. But not enough. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *prepares to be screamed at in the comments*
> 
> (pls do comment tho, ilu, thx)
> 
> I know, everyone needs a hug now. Including me! I'm emotionally wrecked, over here!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle of wills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is looong. But it had to be! Enjoy. I'm sorry if there's a bunch of typos, I wrote this mostly in the middle of the night.  
> And yes, Smile's record deal actually was with a company called Mercury Records.

\- - - 

"I mean, he can't keep avoiding me for _ever_." 

Brian put the chip he had just picked up back down and sighed, looking as though he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. 

" _Sorry_ ," Roger slumped back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table lightly. "I'll stop talking about it." He turned to look out at the gloomy grey sky through the window. "Lovely weather we're having. Did you watch the game last night?" 

This time, Brian did roll his eyes. 

"It's just, I really don't know what to tell you, Rog," he said, somewhere between exasperated and sympathetic, "since you won't tell me what actually happened."

Roger threw up his arms and groaned in frustration. "Well, I told you, I can't! That's what got me in trouble in the first place." 

"Okay, so, then..."

"So, imagine you told me a secret and I accidentally told people. _Accidentally_ ," Roger leaned forward, elbows on the table. "And I was really sorry, _obviously_. Would you just... stop being my friend?" 

"Depends on the secret," Brian shrugged, biting into his chip. "Probably not though." 

" _Thank_ you," Roger huffed, throwing one of his own chips into his mouth. 

"But I don't really have any terrible secrets," the guitarist mused. 

Roger narrowed his eyes at him, chewing. "Well," he licked his finger, picked up another chip and pointed it at Brian, "imagine you _did_. And- and imagine I was the only one you'd ever told about it." 

Brian frowned, gazing into the middle distance for a few moments. "Yeah, you know what... I _would_ be pretty mad about that. I wouldn't think you were a very good friend, to begin with."

Roger stared at him. 

"I'd definitely regret telling you in the first place," Brian added helpfully, through a mouthful of fish and chips, "since you clearly can't be trusted." 

"Ugh," Roger buried his face in his hands, "great, thanks. I feel so much better now." 

"Well, imagine how he must feel." 

Roger lifted his head up again to glare at his friend. "Gee, thank you, Brian. You know, that hadn't crossed my mind at all? Because I'm such a _fucking asshole_." 

"Sorry," Brian shrugged. "I really don't know what you want me to say. Give it some time?" 

He watched Roger gloomily pick at his chips. 

" _Is_ it such a terrible secret?" Brian asked, after a while. 

The wind was picking up outside, tearing at the awnings on shop fronts. Roger put his chin in his hand, watching a page of newspaper swirl around on the pavement. 

"Depends," he said quietly. 

Brian just shook his head. "What does that even mean?" 

\- - - 

Freddie's coat hung in Roger's wardrobe, silently taunting him every morning for the past week. Of course he could have given it to Tim, the only one of them who had run into Freddie throughout the week, at college. 

_'What did he say?'_

_'Nothing.'_

_'What do you mean, nothing? What did_ you _say?'_

_'I said you have his coat.'_

_'Okay, so what did he say?'_

_'I'm telling you! Nothing. He changed the subject.'_

But Roger wasn't going to do that. If Fred wanted his coat back, he had to come and talk to him, because Roger had _tried_.  
He had tried on Sunday morning - well, noon - even though he'd barely been able to crawl out of bed. 

_'Can I speak to Freddie, please?'_

_'One moment. ... Freddie! It's for you! ... He didn't say. One of your friends, I'm sure. He's just coming, dear.'_

_'Okay, thank you.'_

_Silence._

_'Hello?'_

_'Hey Fred... it's me.'_

_Click._

Roger had sat and listened to the beeping sound of the disconnected line for some time before he, too, hung up the phone.  
At least he knew Freddie had made it home okay. 

And then it was time to go and collect the van from Revolution and unload their instruments, which was unfortunate because everyone was very hungover.  
Monday had been the day of the meeting and all three of them had been beside themselves - first with nerves and then with joy. They had a record deal. _They had a record deal!_  
It still hadn't quite sunk in. By all accounts, Roger thought, this should have been one of the happiest times of his life. But the events of Saturday night kept replaying in his mind on an infinite loop, leaving him feeling anxious and racked with guilt. Surely, he thought, Freddie had to know that he would have given anything to take back his foolish slip of the tongue.  
They had another, quieter celebration on Monday night, at the Kensington, their regular pub. Even Tim remarked that it felt strange, Freddie not being there, when he had become such an integral part of their social group. A handful of their other friends had come along, and the amount of times Roger had gone through variations of the same conversation over and over had made him want to go home early. 

_'Where's Freddie?'_

_'He's mad at Roger.'_

_'Why?'_

In the end, he had left early with Carrie, who had come on his invitation. 

\- - - 

"You really care about him, huh?" 

Roger frowned, running his fingers up and down her naked shoulder. 

"I mean, yeah, he's a really good friend and it sucks," he gestured at the ceiling vaguely with his free hand, "this whole situation, you know." 

Carrie moved her leg and wrapped it around his hip to get more comfortable, her head resting on his shoulder. 

"I know," she said, softly tracing his collar bone with her fingertips, "you've not stopped talking about it all night."

"Well, you're the only one I can really talk to because you know what happened," Roger said defensively, then turned his head to raise an eyebrow at her. "Sorry. Shall we stop talking again? Because I liked the not talking." 

She smiled as he slid his hand under the covers, pulling her closer by the waist. "Big fan of the not talking, in fact," he added, and kissed her, relishing the feeling of her naked body pressed against his. 

"I have to go home," she told him, breaking the kiss after a few moments. "It's a school night."

Roger sighed against her lips, lazily grinding against her. And he'd just about recovered, too. "Are you _absolutely_ sure you have to go _right now_?" 

Carrie shifted onto her back, laughing softly as he lifted himself up on one elbow and began to kiss his way down her chest and stomach. 

"Maybe just..." she breathed, watching him place a few slow kisses just below her belly button, "half an hour." 

Some distractions were more effective (and more enjoyable) than others. But only for so long.  
When Carrie left about an hour later, Roger sat up on the windowsill, smoking more than he should and listening to the Hendrix album Freddie had lent him a few weeks ago. 

\- - - 

Between Tuesday and Friday, Roger realised several things.  
It seemed as though Freddie really was determined never to speak to him again. Or so much as go near him, apparently, because no one had seen him at the lounge at Imperial College, nor the market, nor any of their other usual hangouts. Roger diligently looked after their little shop as much as he could, wanting to make up for the time Fred had dedicated to it over the last couple of weeks. But it was dull, without him.  
He'd tried calling again, on Wednesday afternoon, and was told by who he assumed must have been Freddie's little sister that he wasn't home. Roger doubted that was true, because she had made sure to ask his name first. 

_'Can you tell him...'_

_'Yes?'_

_Tell him I miss him. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him to tell me what to do, I'll do anything.  
Tell him I want my friend back. _

_'Just tell him to please call me.'_

_'Okay, I will do. Bye bye.'_

It became apparent, as he asked around, that while most of their friends vaguely knew where Freddie lived, no one knew the actual address or had ever been to his house. Roger had never given much thought before to what a private person Fred really was, but now that he did, it only served to make him feel worse about what he had done. He hoped Freddie knew that, in the end, nobody had any idea what their fight at the party had been about.

Well, almost nobody. 

\- - - 

"What do I do?" 

It was just before eleven on Friday night. Carrie was sitting on the edge of his bed, slowly pulling on her tights. Propped up on one elbow, the covers bunched up around his hips, Roger leaned past her to reach the ash tray on the bedside table. 

"You could go to his house?" she suggested, standing up to pull her tights up and flipping back her hair before she pulled on her jumper. 

"I thought about that," he admitted, taking a drag from his cigarette. "But I don't have the address." 

Carrie looked at him for a moment. "So look it up?" 

Roger immediately felt stupid. Of course. He could just look it up in the telephone book. There probably weren't a whole lot of families in Feltham with the same last name, or in London, for that matter. Why in the world hadn't he thought of that? 

"Oh yeah," he scratched his cheek, sitting up straight and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "But, I don't know. Don't you think it's a bit... I mean, what do I even... It's like showing up with a bunch of flowers to a girl's house trying to win her back, or something." 

Carrie laughed, picking up her skirt from the floor. "So don't bring flowers."

"I wasn't going to, I just mean..." he sighed, shaking his head, and leaned over to the ash tray again. "I don't really know what I mean. He'd probably just slam the door in my face anyway." 

"Maybe," Carrie shrugged, and tilted her head, watching him curiously. "Let's say... let's just say you were trying to win a girl back. What would you do?" 

Roger looked up at her, a little bemused, but she just raised her eyebrows at him so he thought about it. 

"Bring a bunch of flowers, probably." 

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Okay, _apart_ from the flowers."

"I don't know!" Roger made a face, and stubbed out his cigarette. "Write a song? Stand outside her house all day until she forgives me? How is this helpful, exactly? He's not a girl, so-" 

"Well, no, but..." she trailed off with a shrug that suggested there was a whole other part to that sentence she didn't feel the need to say. 

Roger narrowed his eyes at her. "But _what_?" 

The way she bit her lip suggested she was trying to hide a smile as she came and sat next to him. "He obviously really likes you. You know that, right?" 

Roger looked at her as if she was mildly insane. "I'm actually pretty sure he hates my guts right now." 

"Oh, my god," Carrie rolled her eyes again, now openly smiling, "he's _hurt_ because you ratted out very personal information about him as if it was nothing. If you don't care about someone, they can't hurt you like that."

"Okay?" Roger wasn't at all sure where she was going with this. 

"Anyway," she brushed her hair back over her shoulder, "you haven't wondered why he told _you_ and not anyone else?" 

"No?" He really hadn't. 

Carrie was looking at him, intently. "You haven't wondered why," she said slowly, "he told _you_ , and no one else, that he likes kissing boys?" 

"Well, he didn't say it like _that_ ," Roger protested, finally catching her drift, "You're making it sound like he was coming on to me or something. It wasn't like that at all. We were just talking and it came up. I sort of made him tell me, actually." 

"Mhm." There was that smile again. 

"And he never said he _liked_ it," Roger continued, "just that it'd happened. He likes kissing girls, in case you didn't notice." 

He really wasn't sure why he was arguing, or for whose sake. 

"I'm not saying he doesn't," Carrie said simply, and added: "I think it's like ice cream, if you ask me." 

Now Roger was really lost. "Ice cream," he repeated, knitting his brows together and tucking one leg under himself as he turned toward her. 

"Yes," Carrie chuckled. "go on, what's your favourite flavour?" 

"Of ice cream." 

"Yes!" 

"Okay? Umm... strawberry, I guess."

"Alright," she leaned in closer, brushing the tip of her nose against his, "so most of the time, at the ice cream parlour, you'd probably want strawberry." 

Her breath tickled his skin as she spoke, and he smiled, closing the distance to steal a brief kiss. 

"Well, yeah." 

"Right. But I'm sure you've had, say, vanilla _some_ days?" 

Roger was laughing at this ridiculous exchange, and kissed her again. "Pretty sure I have." 

"And did you like it?" 

"Of course," he answered, "it's still ice cream!" 

"Exactly," Carrie grinned, and pecked him on the lips one last time. "So maybe some days you just feel like vanilla." 

She pulled away and stood up, bending down to put on her shoes. 

"Wait a minute..." Roger watched her, mulling over what she had just said. "Huh."

Her analogy, once he had understood it, together with everything else she had said, had sent his mind racing. Only he couldn't seem to focus on one clear thought. 

"Anyway, I have to go or I'll miss the tube," Carrie was saying, "Good luck. I hope things work out."

"Yeah... Oh, let me walk you to the door," Roger snapped out of his thoughts and looked around for something to wear. 

"Don't worry," Carrie gave him a smile and bent down for a kiss, "I'm a big girl, I can find my way out." 

"Okay," he held on to her hand as she pulled away, until she was out of reach, "Thank you. I think." 

Carrie laughed and waved at him from the door. "I'll see you." 

That night, he couldn't fall asleep. All week, he had been so preoccupied with the awful end of the party that he hadn't really stopped to think about the rest of it. Not much, anyway. It had felt wrong to dwell on what a good time he'd had up to that point, when everything had gone so tits up in the end, all because of him. But now he was lying awake, replaying hazy memories in his mind, of a not-so-accidental caress and charged looks exchanged, and thinking about strawberry ice cream, and how much he'd like to try vanilla. 

\- - - 

Over breakfast on Saturday morning, Roger found Freddie's address in the telephone book. He finished his tea and toast, feeling strangely nervous, and returned to his room, staring into his wardrobe. 

"Well," he murmured to himself, grabbing the fur coat, "here goes."

The trip out to Feltham felt like it lasted forever, and the house was a solid fifteen minute walk from the station, too. Roger almost couldn't believe that Fred was doing this daily.  
When he walked up to the front door, his heart was racing and his stomach was in knots. 'Come on now', he thought, 'What's the worst that can happen?' Freddie wouldn't want to see him, that was the worst that could happen, and he had no real plan for that eventuality.  
Taking a deep breath, Roger lifted his hand and knocked. It was Freddie's sister who opened, a young girl whose resemblance to her brother Roger could immediately see. She looked at him, eyebrows raised. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Hi, yeah," Roger smiled nervously, bobbing up and down on his heels. "I'm a friend of Freddie's, I... I have his coat. Is he home?" 

Freddie's sister - and Roger was trying to remember her name, he was sure Freddie had told him, but he was dreadful with names - looked at him somewhat curiously. 

"He left."

"Oh," Roger said, realising he really hadn't prepared for _that_ eventuality either, "Any idea when he'll be back?" 

The girl frowned, shaking her head. "No, no. I mean, he left for good."

Roger just looked at her, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"Yeah, he moved out on Thursday, so..."

"Oh, my god," Roger blurted out as a frightening thought suddenly popped into his head, "has he gone back to..." 

Caught between trying to remember where exactly Freddie was from in more specific terms than 'India, or thereabouts' and at the same time realising how utterly ridiculous the idea was that Fred had _fled the country_ , Roger blushed and shut up. 

"He's staying in a flatshare in South Kensington," Freddie's sister told him, eyeing him with a hint of amusement. 

Ah. Of course. That made a lot more sense. 

"Right," he cleared his throat. "So... I don't suppose you have the address?" 

Kash - that was her name! Roger remembered, on his way back to the station - had 'umm'ed and 'ahh'ed about it a little, but had provided him with the address eventually.  
By the time he was back on the train, Roger was laughing at himself. He would absolutely have to tell Freddie that, for a brief moment, he'd assumed that he had moved all the way back to India because he was so mad at him. Roger could just imagine how hilarious Freddie would find it, if ever they were on speaking terms again. His smile faded and he looked down at the coat in his lap, smoothing the fur over with his hand. 

At least he felt a lot less nervous walking up to yet another house where he was hoping to find his friend. After all, he had already made a fool of himself once today. Anything from here on out was going to be an improvement. 

A tall bloke with glasses, a cigarette hanging from his lips, opened the door with a mumbled 'hey man' and immediately stepped aside to let Roger in. It was the sort of casualness typical of an overcrowded flatshare where people came and went all the time. 

"Hi," Roger stepped through into a cramped living room with a kitchenette, where a girl was busy cooking. 

"Um, I'm looking for Freddie?" he said, glancing around. "Fred Bulsara?" 

"Yup," the bloke with the glasses said, closing the door behind him as he pointed down the corridor, "first door on the right." 

"Cheers, mate," Roger nodded curtly and turned away, approaching the door. The muffled sound of music playing could be heard. The Stones, it sounded like. 

Roger knocked. 

A bloke who looked about seventeen and definitely wasn't Freddie opened the door, saw Roger, and turned back over his shoulder to throw a questioning glance to the other occupant of the room.  
That was when Roger saw him. Sitting on a small single bed, barefoot, propped up against the wall with a sketch pad resting on his legs and chewing the end of his pencil, was Freddie. 

"Hi," said Roger with a small smile when Fred looked up. The dark-haired man lowered his pencil, genuinely shocked to see him. But the next moment, he caught himself and his expression turned stone-cold. Without a word, he put down his sketch pad, climbed off the bed and walked up to the door. 

"I have your-" Roger started, but did not get much further, because Freddie shut the door in his face. 

"...coat," he finished with a sigh. Great, so pretty much what he had expected then.

But to his surprise, the door opened once more. 

"Fred-"

Again, he was cut off when Freddie snatched the fur coat out of his hands, and immediately slammed the door again. 

"Hey," Roger put his hands on his hips, talking through the door, "I lugged that thing all the way to Feltham and back for you today, just so you know."

"What do you want, a medal?" Freddie shouted back, after a moment. 

Cheeky sod. 

"Open up and talk to me," Roger put a hand on the door, leaning closer, " _Please._ This is stupid." 

"No," came the reply, "Go away." 

Roger crossed his arms in front of his chest. "No! You might as well come out, because I'm not going anywhere until you do." 

There was a tut and some incomprehensible mumbling, but the door remained closed. Roger became aware that he was being watched, and looked over to the living room, giving the other occupants of the flat an awkward little nod. Somehow, there was a group of four of them now. 

"Alright, listen," he called, "you can stay in there as long as you like, because I'm gonna go and sit on the doorstep for as long as it takes until you come and talk to me." 

And with that, he marched to the front door, let himself out, and lowered himself onto the stairs, lighting a cigarette.  
After about ten minutes, Roger heard the door creak and turned around, but it was quickly pulled shut. He snorted, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand.  
Freddie, no doubt, making sure he was really there. Fine, then. He had nowhere else to go today. The battle of wills was on. 

After about half an hour, Roger began to wish he'd thought to bring a book. And a snack, too. Although it wasn't as if he had planned this.  
After fourty minutes or so, he got up and stretched, then walked up and down the stairs a few times, before lighting another cigarette. He was beginning to wonder if he really was willing to spend the entire day sitting here. But he had committed to it now, and leaving would feel like admitting defeat. Besides, there was _no way_ Freddie wasn't going to give in eventually.  
Or so he told himself.  
Or so he hoped.

At least it was a nice, balmy day, for a change. 

Roger counted the individual bricks on the wall across the street. He tried to copy the tune the birds in the tree were singing. He played hopscotch on the pavement stones at the foot of the stairs. He finished his cigarettes and tore the empty pack into pieces and strips. He politely waved to the people who left and entered the house, hoping none of them them would call the police on him for loitering. A full three hours later, he almost nodded off in the warm sunlight, leaning against the wall, when the door opened and a pair of bare feet approached him. 

Roger looked up at Freddie, who was cradling a large tea mug. 

"Come in then," he said quietly, rolling his eyes, and took a sip. His expression was concealed behind the mug, but Roger thought he detected a smile. 

Roger broke into a smug grin and got up, following him inside. 

When they entered the room, the young-looking lad was lying on his own bed in the room they evidently shared, poring over what looked like a physics textbook. 

"Kevin?" Freddie addressed him, and took another sip of his tea. It smelled like camomile. "Do you mind, dear?" 

Kevin looked up and blinked. Freddie nodded towards the door, essentially throwing his roommate out of their room in a very nonchalant manner. 

"Oh. Sure, yeah," Kevin got up and did as he was told without protest. Two days in, and Fred obviously already owned the shared room. More than a little amused, Roger watched the boy close the door as he left and turned back to the force of nature that was Freddie. 

"Alright," the older man said, lowering himself onto his bed and crossing one leg over the other, "You have five minutes." 

"Uh..." Roger looked at him, eyebrows raised. Five minutes to do what? It wasn't as if he had a speech prepared.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," Freddie said, his voice a little on egde as he gesticulated toward him, "so talk. I'm listening."

"Bloody hell, you're not making this easy," Roger said matter-of-factly, then glanced at the bed. "Can I sit down at least or do I have to stand here like an idiot?" 

"You can do what you like," Freddie shrugged, "But I don't know that sitting down will make you any less of an idiot." 

Roger bit his lip, smiling as he nodded. "Alright, I guess I deserve that." Then he moved to sit on the bed beside the other man, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning foward. Next to him, Freddie was sitting up very straight, clutching his mug and watching him. 

"We signed the record deal," Roger told him, "with Mercury Records. We're gonna start recording a single next week." 

Freddie snorted quietly. "Not what I would've opened with, but okay."

"I should be over the moon, but I'm not," Roger continued, ignoring the comment and looking at his hands as he spoke. It was easier that way. "Because you're missing. You're missing from my life, and from rehearsals, and none of it is the same without you. I think about you every day, I can't stop. And I've been thinking that, if you just tell me what to do, I'll do it... I'll do anything to make things okay again. But I know there's nothing I _can_ do, because you trusted me, and I broke that. And that really hurts, but I know I hurt you more. And I can say sorry until the cows come home, but it doesn't really matter, because I can't _fix_ this." He paused, and swallowed, not sure where any of this was coming from, but now that he had started, the words were just falling out. "So I don't think I'm even here to- to ask you to forgive me or be my friend again or- I don't know. Because I don't know if you can do that? I can promise you that I'll never, ever do anything that stupid to you, ever again, but why would you believe me? I get that. I do. My word isn't worth shit, now. So I guess I just wanted you to know, to really _understand_ , how much I wish it hadn't happened. And how much I... How much being your friend has meant to me." There was a lump in his throat, and he could hear how strained his own voice sounded. "I fucking miss you, man, and it sucks. I'm sorry, that wasn't five minutes, probably," he sighed, and finally looked up. "but I don't know what else to..."

Freddie was crying. Rather stoically, to his credit, his head turned away and in complete silence. But Roger could see the slight quiver in his shoulders and the glimmer of tears on his cheek. And just like that, he was crying, too. Roger wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

"Hey," he said softly, scooting closer to Freddie. Then he lifted a hand and touched his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Freddie exhaled, almost laughed. 

"You bastard," he said in a broken voice, " _fuck_." And then he put down the mug on the bedside table and turned around, allowing Roger to pull him into a tight embrace. They held on to each other for a long time, barely moving, neither wanting to let go. 

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" Roger eventually asked, pushing his luck. 

Freddie made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. "I hate you. You're fucking impossible to stay mad at." 

"I'll take that as a yes," Roger grinned into Freddie's hair, and they slowly released each other, drying their faces on their sleeves and chuckling quietly.

Their eyes met and Freddie's hand flew up to his mouth, covering the bright smile which had bloomed there. Roger found himself moving on instinct, but even when he realised what he was doing, and why, he didn't stop. He didn't _want_ to stop.  
Leaning in closer, he gently took Freddie's wrist and moved his hand away, all the while holding his gaze. Freddie's smile faltered, but he didn't move nor look away. Instead he watched Roger's eyes flick down to his lips, and back up. Freddie lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly and did the exact same thing. 

Roger's heart was racing. He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life.

_Do it._

_Just do it._

He moved forward, closing the distance, and in that very moment, there was a loud knock. Startled, they jumped apart and stared at the door, as though afraid to move. Another knock sounded. 

"Uh, yes?" Freddie finally said, remembering that he lived here. 

Kevin poked his head in, looking apologetic. "Er... I left my textbook and I don't know how long you'll be," he mumbled, "and I really need it. Sorry." 

Freddie sighed deeply and waved him through. "Okay, sure, go ahead."

The boy snuck in, grabbed his book, and hurried back out. Roger watched the door close and glanced at Freddie, who was biting his thumb nail, looking at him. They both looked away. 

The moment had passed.

"So, lunch?" Freddie asked. 

"Yes!" Roger jumped up from the bed. "I'm bloody starving after you made me sit out there for _three hours_."

Freddie looked genuinely apologetic. "Yeah... I wanted to let you in sooner but people were betting on how long you'd last," he admitted, "On the upside, I won."

"You asshole," Roger snorted with laughter, "Come on then, in that case, you can buy lunch." 

"Fair enough," Freddie sighed, and went in search of some socks. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Don't kill me! Please. It'll be worth the wait, I promise. lol
> 
> Also, I find it hilarious that Roger's 'safe space' basically is sex. Honestly, it's probably his cure all, no matter the situation. 
> 
> Let me know what you thiiiink! ;-*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Failed attempts at casual conversation and other adventures. OR: Freddie doesn't even know how to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought for one moment that I would not write a 5000 word chapter of basically just Freddie and Roger hanging out and being themselves then you were WRONG.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> And thank you SO SO MUCH for all the comments and for talking to me in the comments, absolutely loving the interaction!

\- - - 

"So, how come you just up and left?" Roger tucked into his food eagerly, washing it down with a gulp of lager. He clearly had been absolutely famished, and the Kensington's pie and mash seemed to be just the ticket. 

"What do you mean, dear?" Freddie asked, carefully breaking into the pie crust with his fork. 

"I mean, you. Moving. This week," Roger elaborated, trying not to talk with his mouth full and failing. Freddie smiled. It was adorable. _He_ was adorable, Freddie thought fondly, and hated himself a little for it because only yesterday, he had still been determined to never think of Roger in any of those terms ever again. But yesterday Roger hadn't tracked him down at his new address yet, or sat on his doorstep for hours just to tell him how much he cared, or - and that was the part Freddie was currently struggling to make sense of - _tried to kiss him_. Because that had definitely happened, not even an hour ago, and now they were clearly pretending it hadn't.  
The nervous tingle in the pit of his stomach knew otherwise, but he was trying his best to ignore it until he knew what to make of the situation. 

"Did something happen at home?" Roger asked, having finally swallowed his food. 

"What?" Freddie returned his attention to what Roger had just said, and waved a dismissive hand, "Oh. No, no. No more than usual. I've been looking for a place in Kensington for a couple of weeks now. And this came up." 

"I didn't know," Roger frowned, "You never told me that." 

"Well, you were busy and it wasn't that important," Freddie said simply, taking a bite, then noticed Roger looking at him, one eyebrow raised, "What?" 

"You're sneaky," Roger observed, pointing his fork at him, "You never really talk about yourself, you know."

"Nonsense, darling," Freddie protested, cutting away at his piece of pie, "I talk about myself all the time, it's one of my favourite past-times." 

The exaggeration was theatrical and deliberate. Roger shook his head with a grin. 

"You talk about what you want to do and who you'd like to be," he said sagely, "not so much about yourself or your life or anything." 

This cut so close to the bone that it gave Freddie pause.

"Well, fine then, go ahead and ask me something," he offered, stubbornly determined to prove his friend wrong. 

"No, that's not how- mh, sorry," Roger mumbled with his mouth full, paused, and swallowed, "Not how it works. You have to _tell_ me something."

"Like what?" Freddie rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. 

" _Something,_ I don't know."

Freddie sighed dramatically and pursed his lips, one elbow on the table, twirling his fork around thoughtfully. 

"Alright," he said after a moment, "I don't have a favourite colour. I suit them all, so I don't see why I should make up my mind." 

Roger just looked at him.

"That's probably the least interesting thing I've ever heard you say," he said flatly. 

"Well, you didn't say it had to be _interesting_!" Freddie complained. 

"It should be- I don't know, Fred, it should be at least a notch above _utterly dull_ ," specified Roger, then thought for a moment and frowned, "And that's bollocks anyway, you don't suit _every colour_. Nobody does."

"I can _pull off_ every colour, trust me," Freddie assured him with unwavering confidence in that ability. 

" _Anyway_ ," Roger gestured for him to provide another, more interesting, piece of information. 

Freddie genuinely couldn't think of anything off the top of his head. 

"Maybe I'm just not that interesting, have you considered that?" Or maybe his friend had a point. 

Roger was now laughing at him outright. "Pffft! A likely story." 

"Alright, fine, how about this," Freddie held up one finger to silence the other, then pointed to himself, "You're looking at a table tennis school champion." 

Roger chuckled. "You told me that already!" 

"I did?!" Freddie stared at him, then immediately remembered. "Oh, fuck, that's right, I did. See? I tell you things." 

"Yeah, but, that's just a fact," Roger pointed out, "it's not exactly _personal_."

"I don't understand what you want from me then!" Freddie exclaimed, eyes wide, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I'll make sure to let you know next time I'm flat hunting, alright? Would you like to know what I had for breakfast, too?" 

Roger sighed, shaking his head with a smile. "Nevermind. Just forget it." 

Freddie went back to his food with a quiet huff. How did Roger expect him to _just forget it_. It was bothering him now. Did he really come across as secretive? Or closed off? He prefered to think of himself as _enigmatic_ , thank you very much.  
Did Roger feel as though he didn't know him as well as he should?  
Freddie racked his brain for _some_ thing. Something interesting. Personal. (But not too personal. Damn it all, maybe Roger _was_ right.) 

"I once stole a ruby ring in a marketplace in Bombay and an old one-legged Arab chased me down the street on crutches," he said out of nowhere, after a few minutes.

That piqued Roger's interest. He snorted with laughter, eyebrows raised. "You what?" 

"I didn't think he'd be able to run so fast. Or at all!" Freddie continued, laughing as well, quite pleased with himself to have thought of something that was interesting, personal _and_ funny, probably. "Because, you see, he kept this stick- well, it was a thin bamboo cane, a switch type of thing, in his apron and if anyone- I mean, kids mostly, got too close to the jewellery he'd swat your hand away with it, to make sure you weren't stealing anything. I must have decided it was because he couldn't stand up or walk very well. You know, one leg and all."

"Right?" Roger put some mashed potatoes in his mouth, intrigued. 

"Well, he could! And he was fucking fast on those crutches," Freddie shook his head, remembering. 

"Did you get away?" 

"Ohh, no, I did not. Not from him _or_ his bamboo cane," he winced at the memory and gave Roger a mildly horrified look, "He was furious."

Roger grimaced sympathetically. "Oh, shit."

"Yes," Freddie raised his eyebrows, "God, it was fucking awful actually, now that I think about it. It was funnier in my head, I don't know." 

And this was exactly why Freddie didn't like talking about himself, he thought, because he was _terrible at it_ and it made him feel incredibly awkward. 

"How old were you?" 

"Nine? Or ten, probably." 

"Why'd you steal it?" Roger wanted to know.

"Because it was beautiful and I wanted to have it," Freddie replied matter-of-factly. "And I thought I could get away with it. Anyway, happy now? Was that personal enough?" 

Roger was looking at him with an unreadable expression, which only served to make him more uncomfortable. 

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot," he finally said, "I just meant, you can tell me things, you know. About yourself. Unimportant or personal, it's what friends are for." 

Freddie felt a pang of resentment. 'Oh really?' he thought and lowered his cutlery. 

"I _did_ tell you something very personal a while ago, Rog. And look how that turned out." 

He regretted the words even as they left his mouth, because he didn't _want_ to be angry anymore. But it was true, there was no easy 'fix' for what had happened that night, and even though he had accepted Roger's apology, that didn't mean it was all water under the bridge. 

Roger blinked, caught out. 

"Yeah, okay," he conceded quickly and slumped back in his chair, eyes downcast. "Still extremely sorry. About that." 

Now Freddie felt guilty, too. It had been a miserable week, for both of them, no doubt. 

Enough of this already. Happy thoughts. 

He sighed and leaned forward with a conciliating smile, reaching for Roger's hand on the table to give it a gentle squeeze.

"I know. I know you are." 

Roger smiled back sheepishly, but then looked at their joined hands and sat up straighter, pulling his hand away with a furtive glance at the table of old men sat closest to them, currently arguing about politics. 

"Sorry," Freddie muttered, realising his mistake, and pulled his own hand back, focusing his attention on his plate. 

"No, it's just-" Roger broke off, nervously tapping his fork on the table. 

"I know," Freddie assured him, and he did know. He understood perfectly well. They were in a crowded pub, and Roger didn't want anyone getting ideas. He was absolutely right, too. 

Only, why would people be getting ideas? He was sure he'd touched Roger plenty of times in public before, and neither of them had ever been worried about it seeming like something it wasn't. 

'Because it wasn't anything then,' Freddie found himself thinking, 'but now it _is_.'

There was that nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach again. He thought of the party, and Roger's eyes on him. He thought of Roger sitting beside him on his bed, holding his wrist. Leaning closer. No longer content with being ignored, the nervous sensation intensified. 

They ate in silence for some time. Until Roger snickered to himself.  
Relieved that something had broken the hint of tension that had arisen, Freddie raised an eyebrow. 

"Clue me in?" 

"Um, so... _Kevin_?" Roger made a face, as if to say 'poor lamb'. "He's terrified of you." 

Freddie feigned outrage. "He is not! I'm a very pleasant roommate, I'll have you know." 

"Whatever you say," Roger grinned. "How old is he anyway? Sixteen?" 

"Twenty-one, would you believe it," Freddie replied, putting another bite in his mouth, "Older than you."

"Get out!"

"No, really." 

"Huh. Sucks having to share a room with a stranger though, no?" Roger asked, taking a sip from his glass. 

Freddie sighed with a small shrug. "It's _Kensington_ , darling. Do you have any idea how much the rent is around here? Anyway, it's not as bad as that, he seems nice enough..." he hesitated, reaching for his glass of water and studying the younger man over the rim of it as he drank. 

"Mind you, he's got terrible timing," he finally added. 

Or rather, _hinted._

His stomach was doing summersaults.

Roger choked on his beer and cleared his throat. 

"Um, yeah..."

They looked at each other, a question in Freddie's eyes. 

'So, are we going to talk about it? The fact that you almost kissed me? Are we going to talk about _that_?' 

"We could head to the market, after this," Roger averted his eyes first, suddenly taking a great interest in his mashed potatoes, "if you've got the time." 

Freddie looked down as well, prodding a mushroom with his fork.  
Alright. Evidently they were still pretending it hadn't happened. He exhaled slowly, feeling oddly depleted. In his mind, his chances of a repeat of that particular moment were steadily slipping away. Ridiculously, he was now losing hope that something which hadn't even happened, _might_ happen, even though there was no indication that it ever _would_ , again. 

Fucking _Kevin._

"Unless you don't want to...?" Roger said, and Freddie realised he had never answered the question. Right, of course. 

"Yes, let's go. Should be busy today. And you can't possibly have sold much without me!" 

\- - - 

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon, the weather was beautiful, and Kensington Market was bustling with life. Returning to their stall felt like coming home. Which was silly, of course, because it wasn't even as if he'd been gone for more than a week. Freddie felt himself relax and breathed a sigh of relief. Lunch had been a bit of a strange affair, probably because he was overthinking things, but surely here everything would go right back to normal. 

"What are you smiling about?" Roger asked curiously when he caught him blissfully grinning while gazing out into the busy market lane. 

"I didn't realise how much I'd missed it," Freddie told him and turned back to look at him, over his shoulder. "Being here with you." 

Roger chuckled and looked away, needlessly occupying himself with an embroidered belt that hung from the wall. 

'Oh no,' Freddie thought miserably. They had managed to escape the underlying awkwardness for all of five minutes. What had he said now? Or was it the way in which he'd said it? He was slowly starting to second-guess every one of their interactions, and it was nerve-racking.  
Did Roger think he was _flirting_ with him? 

_Was_ he? 

_Shit._

Freddie panicked. This was exactly the sort of thing he had been afraid of. This was _exactly_ why he had spent months putting all compromising thoughts about Roger out of his mind. Because they were _friends_ , first and foremost, and now here he was, ruining that. 

Except he wasn't even the one who had _started_ it, for goodness sake. 

Feeling frustrated and anxious, his joy at being back in a place he loved dampened, Freddie reached for his cigarettes. 

"I'm just going to nip downstairs, darling. I'll be back in a bit," he announced, not really looking at Roger, and headed for the stairwell. 

He was halfway through a cigarette when Roger stepped outside and walked up to him slowly, hands in his pockets. 'Lovely,' Freddie thought, shifting against the wall, 'Let's make this _more_ awkward, why don't we?' 

"Can you do me a favour?" Roger asked. 

Freddie took a drag from his cigarette, eyeing him suspiciously. "Yes?" 

"Can you, uh..." Roger glanced down at his shoes, shuffling his feet. "Can you maybe not run away when something bothers you and just, I don't know, talk to me?" 

Freddie's lips parted as he looked at the fair-haired man in surprise. That wasn't what he had expected. At all. 

"Can I bum another one of you?" Roger said, not waiting for a reply, and leaned against the wall next to him. 

Freddie passed him a cigarette and his matches, and watched him light it, out of the corner of his eye. 

"Cheers." 

"Don't mention it." 

"So," said Roger. 

"So," said Freddie, his stomach in knots. 

So _were_ they going to talk about it, after all? God, how was he even going to get the words out?

Apparently he wasn't the only one struggling, because for a minute or two, neither of them said anything. Freddie threw the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with his heel. 

"It's my fault again, isn't it," Roger finally spoke up, eyes firmly on the road they were facing. "I shouldn't have done that, earlier." 

"What do you mean, dear?" Freddie asked, his voice for some reason higher than usual. 

"You know what I mean." 

He did. He did know. He had no idea why he was suddenly the one trying to pretend otherwise. 

"Um," Freddie didn't know what to say, he really didn't. 

Roger took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled, before he spoke. "I- I won't do it again?" 

It sounded like a question, and it sounded dejected. A part of Freddie wanted to cry. 

"I just," he gave a small, tortured sigh, playing with the ends of his hair, "I don't want us to stop being friends." 

Roger turned to look at him. "Neither do I," he said firmly, frowning, "But who says we- I mean, why wouldn't we be-" 

"I don't _know_ ," Freddie bit his thumb nail, his voice unsteady, "I don't know what to think, alright? I _don't know_."

"Okay," said Roger. 

" _Okay_ ," said Freddie, now desperately wanting out of this conversation. Maybe _not_ talking about it had been the better option, after all. 

"I don't _think_ I'd stop being your friend..." Roger speculated. 

_Oh, for fuck's-_

Freddie felt like lighting another cigarette. 

"Of course you don't think that, _now_ ," he spoke quickly, watching the cars go by through the steady stream of people on the pavement, "but you can't know that. How can you _know_ that? It's _already weird_ , Rog. Or is it just me? Right now, _this_ is fucking weird so I- I just don't- I mean, can you imagine if we...?" 

Their eyes met and he trailed off. There was something about the younger man's gaze, something that soothed his fears and made his resolve crumble, just as it had the other night. 

"If we _did_..." he tried again, and still the rest remained unsaid. They looked at each other for a long moment.

"I can," Roger said quietly and leaned his head against the wall, his voice low, "imagine."

Freddie's heart missed a beat. 

"In fact," Roger took a final drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly, "I _have_." 

Freddie felt weak at the knees. 

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah," said Roger. 

The tension was becoming almost unbearable. 

They looked away at the same time, even as Roger's fingers lightly grazed Freddie's hand. It was the smallest touch, but it sent a shiver through him and raised goosebumps all over his skin. It didn't feel accidental. And it wasn't, because Roger did it again, stroking the back of his hand in the most subtle, tender way imaginable. Heart in his throat, Freddie returned the gesture, running his knuckles over the back of the other's hand ever so softly, his fingers trembling. Roger exhaled audibly.

"That's not helping," he noted, his voice raspier than usual. 

"No," Freddie agreed, wondering how _in god's name_ he might be able to survive kissing Roger if something as innocuous as _this_ was turning his knees to pudding. 

_Nevermind the fact_ that they had just agreed not to jeopardise their friendship - hadn't they!? He really wasn't sure about anything anymore. 

"Shall we go up?" Roger suddenly asked, shooting him a look that made Freddie's breath hitch because he might as well have said _shall we take this upstairs?_

"I mean, do you want-" 

"Yes," he heard himself say, very definitively, before Roger had even finished speaking. 

"Fuck, okay," Roger took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, a part of him clearly in as much disbelief as Freddie was at this turn of events, "Alright, okay... let's go." 

And just like that Roger was leading the way back up to their market stall, while Freddie followed, feeling faint and breathless with excitement. 

_Oh god._

Was this real life? 

Roger opened the stall. Freddie stepped inside and turned around, watching him pull the door shut behind them. The darkness and the reddish pink glow of the fairy lights enveloped them. 

"Here we are then," said Freddie, surprised that he could still form coherent sentences, even if they were ridiculously needless, awkward statements. 

They moved at the same time, coming face to face with each other. Chest to chest. As close as they could be, without actually touching. 

"If someone knocks now, _I swear to god_ -" Roger murmured quietly, taking Freddie's hand and intertwining their fingers, _at last_ , away from the judgemental stares of strangers. 

Freddie chuckled and looked down at their joint hands, caressing the inside of Roger's wrist with his thumb. 

"This is lovely, I like this," he rambled nervously, feeling like an idiot. He couldn't recall the last time holding hands had felt so _intimate_. 

And then Roger closed what little distance remained between them and lifted a hand to his cheek. 

"What about this?" 

Freddie shut his eyes, shivering at the touch and the feeling of the other man's hot breath on his lips. 

"Do you like this?" 

Roger's lips brushed over his own, then captured his mouth in a tentative, fleeting kiss. Freddie's heart was surely going to leap out of his chest and race away. 

"Uh-huh," he breathed and leaned in to meet those lips again, soft and warm and _so real_ against his own. The kiss was as innocent as it was gentle, at first. Slow and sweet, unbearably so. Freddie's chest ached. His insides prickled with the heat of excitement. And then Roger made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, threading his fingers into Freddie's hair, and pushed his tongue into his mouth. 

_Ohgodohdearohfuck._

Freddie moaned with needy desperation, wrapping his arms around Roger and clinging on for dear life because it was all he could do to keep himself upright. The pace went from slow and sensual to frantic in minutes, all innocence forgotten. They stumbled backward into the clothes hung up behind them and hit the wall, breathless sounds of pleasure muffled by velour and satin.  
After what felt like _not enough_ , but could have easily been a quarter of an hour, they came up for air, eyes roaming over each other's faces. 

"Wow," said Roger. 

"Yeah," Freddie agreed.

"Still friends?" Roger asked in a near whisper, licking his lips, his fingers tickling the nape of Freddie's neck, the other hand stroking his side through his shirt. 

Freddie wanted to kiss him again so much it hurt. "Still friends."

Their lips collided with renewed urgency, tongues delving deep into each other's mouths.  
Roger ran his fingers down along one of Freddie's arms and clasped their hands together again, his thigh pushing into the gap between Freddie's legs even as he brought their joined hands up above his head and pushed Freddie up against the wall, licking into his mouth. The strangled noise Freddie made earned him a guttural moan in response, a low, raw sound that went straight to his groin and made him buck his hips against Roger's thigh. 

"Oh, Jesus, _fuck_ -" Roger broke the kiss, breathing hard against Freddie's lips, their foreheads touching, "I don't really, uh- I don't know what-" he said, his voice rough and uneven, one hand at the side of Freddie's waist, fingers playing around the waistband of his trousers, "I mean- obviously, I've never-" 

"Don't worry-" Freddie moaned weakly, not entirely sure what he meant by that other than 'don't worry, this, right here, is just about all I can handle right now'. He knew fully well what Roger was trying to say but he was also painfully aware that, at this rate, if just _kissing_ was this good, _anything_ beyond this point was going to be an embarrassingly brief couple of minutes. And that was probably being generous, because the mere _thought_ -  
Roger leaned in and sucked on a patch of skin just below his ear. Hard.

"Oh _god_ ," Freddie whimpered and threw his head back with such abandon that he banged it on the wall, all the while gripping Roger's hand tightly. "Please, let's just... keep... doing this?" 

"Trust me," Roger murmured breathlessly, alternating between biting and licking all the way down his neck, "I wasn't gonna stop." 

His hand changed course and found Freddie's other wrist, pinning it against the wall by the side of his head. Freddie was grinding against him shamelessly now, unable to control himself even if he'd wanted to. "Mmhyes, ngh- god..."

He was pretty certain Roger was leaving marks on his neck, now. The _painpleasure_ of it was driving him out of his mind. Forget _a couple of minutes_ , Freddie thought. If Roger so much as _lay a hand on him_ right now that'd probably be the end of that.

Of course, Roger seemed to have changed his mind about going down that road which was both ridiculous and somehow ridiculously hot, because _by god_ they weren't a pair of blushing virgins and yet here they were, humping each other fully dressed, and it was so unfathomably amazing. 

Roger pulled back and kissed him again, rough and messy and deep, releasing his hands in favour of his waist, holding on to him firmly while he shifted his own hips, falling into a rhythm with Freddie's movements.  
Freddie took the opportunity to bury his fingers in Roger's hair, meeting his tongue with equal ferocity. They kissed until Freddie's lips felt sore, licking and biting at each other's mouths, grinding against each other. 

Until the friction became _too much_. 

"Ahhgod, stop, stop-" Freddie pleaded, barely recognising his own hoarse voice. " _Stop._ "

He pushed Roger away just enough to still his movements, his body trembling. _Oh boy,_ that was close. 

For a moment, Roger looked at him, confused and almost concerned, until he _realised_ and slowly broke into a grin, looking exceedingly smug. 

"Oh, _shush_ ," Freddie muttered, bracing himself with his hands on the other man's shoulders, his breathing laboured. "My trousers are thinner... than your jeans."

In all fairness, this was true, but it didn't stop Roger from wheezing with laughter.  
Freddie shot him an indignant glare. 

"I didn't say anything!" Roger protested, still snickering. 

"You as good as did. Fuck you then, get off me," Freddie complained, but the younger man was not inclined to do any such thing. 

"I'm sorry, _sorry_ , come here..." he coaxed, wrapping an arm around Freddie's waist and pulling him closer again, "I'm not laughing at you, I promise." 

Freddie wasn't convinced, but stopped struggling and allowed himself to be held. 

"I'm just being an idiot," Roger said quietly, softly, the tips of their noses brushing, "Christ, Fred, I can barely think straight." 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Freddie's mouth, then his jaw, then back to his lips. Placated, Freddie returned the kiss and lowered his head onto Roger's shoulder with a shuddering sigh. "Fucking _hell_ , Roger." 

"Tell me about it," Roger swallowed, gently stroking Freddie's back, "Can we sit down? My legs are jelly."

They lowered themselves onto the ground with their backs against the wall, sitting beside each other much the same way they had done a few weeks ago, on another Saturday afternoon. 

Only they had not held hands, then. And Freddie hadn't leaned over to rest his head on Roger's shoulder. 

"That door," Roger said, after a while, "doesn't lock from the inside, by the way." 

The same thing had briefly crossed Freddie's mind a while ago. 

"Yes, but-" He tried to weigh up the odds, "No one's ever just... barged in."

"But they _could_ ," Roger pointed out. "I'm just saying. We should probably be a bit more careful. In future." 

_In future._

Freddie grinned. 

"Or we could go somewhere else?" he suggested. 

"Or that," Roger agreed, and fell silent again. 

It didn't escape Freddie's attention that he had failed to name the obvious choice. Roger had a room to himself. With a lock. And a bed. 

"I just, I think I need to, uhm, process things first?" the younger man said, tapping his finger on Freddie's hand rhythmically. 

Freddie lifted his head up and turned to look at him. "I didn't mean this very minute." 

"Oh," Roger seemed a tad relieved, and a tad embarrassed. "Right."

"'Cause everything else aside, we better fucking sell something today, darling! This is my bread and butter now," Freddie groaned, over-the-top dramatic, "so unless you want me to _starve_..." 

Roger was laughing. "What the hell are you on about?" 

Freddie waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I quit the Heathrow job last week. I couldn't take it anymore." 

"Freddie!" Roger squeezed his hand, his face incredulous. "You didn't fucking tell me _that_ either!" 

"I'm SORRY," Freddie chuckled and buried his face in Roger's neck, "It was a busy week, alright?" 

"Anything else while we're at it?" Roger teased. "Did you get a tattoo?" 

"Hah! No."

"Did you drop out of college?" 

" _No._ "

"Did you sell a kidney?" 

"Dearie me!" Freddie was giggling, breathless with laughter. "No!" 

"Are you _sure_? Let me check for scars-" 

"No, nono _no_ \- Roger, stop it!" 

They'd had tickle fights before. But none of them had ever ended like this, with Freddie lying on the floor and Roger straddling him, mercilessly tickling his sides until Freddie finally managed to get a hold of his hands. Their eyes locked and the laughter died down. 

"I can tell you what I did this week," Freddie said, his voice low and breathless. 

"And what's that?" Roger smiled, lifting an eyebrow. 

Freddie released his hands and reached up, cupping his face, while Roger lowered himself down to him until their noses brushed. 

"I kissed my best friend," Freddie murmured against Roger's lips, and did just that, delighting in the weight and feel of the other man's body on top of his own. 

" _Best_ friends, are we now?" Roger acknowledged with a smirk, between kisses. 

"Well, I don't do _this_..." Freddie tugged at Roger's hair and caught his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it for a moment while his hips thrust up against the other man's crotch. He was rewarded with a throaty moan. "... with any of my other friends."

"I should bloody well hope not," Roger sighed, eyes falling shut when Freddie continued to move his hips against him. 

It was very easy to fall back into kissing each other, lazy and sensual, and then again deep and hungry, hands roaming over each other's bodies and faces. It was completely impossible to stop.

"Okay, but we have to stop now," Roger tried, all the while making no attempt to actually do so. 

"But I don't want to," Freddie whined, one hand firmly planted on Roger's arse, inside the back pocket of his jeans. 

"But someone could _come in_ ," Roger reminded him, between soft kisses, pressed to his lips. "And you need to pay your fancy Kensington rent." 

"Ugh, you're _right_ ," Freddie groaned, and went in for one last, slow kiss, before Roger climbed off him, sitting down at his side. 

"Give me five minutes," Freddie added and took a deep breath, shifting his hips uncomfortably and cursing his tight trousers. 

"Yeah, no rush," Roger cleared his throat, adjusting himself through his jeans. 

They caught each other's eye and shared their now familiar, knowing, cheeky grin. 

And for once, Freddie didn't feel the urge to cover up his mouth. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Happy now??? :P
> 
> On a side note, I think I could easily fill an entire book with just conversations-Freddie-and-Roger-probably-had.
> 
> As always, leave me comment! I love to hear what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie is high maintenance. Roger wouldn't recognise love if it came and bit him on the nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pure fluff! (Mostly.) 
> 
> Queen trivia: Freddie did use to parade around Kensington looking as stylish as he possibly could, hoping to attract the attention of culturally influential people. 
> 
> Everyone is always eating and drinking in this story. I have no idea why, make of that what you will. 
> 
> The album Roger is listening to in the first part of this is 'The Who sell out', more specifically "Our Love Was" and "I Can See For Miles". I may have listened to "Our Love Was" on repeat while writing this chapter.

\- - - 

So this was vanilla. 

Roger lay sprawled out, as much as anyone could sprawl out on a single bed, gazing up at the ceiling of his room with a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
_The Who_ was playing on the record player, Keith Moon's unique drumming underscoring the melancholy voices of the band. It was late and he was sure the neighbours would be knocking on the ceiling any moment, but he really couldn't care less.

_Our love was flying_  
_Our love was soaring_  
_Our love shining_  
_Like a summer morning_

Turned out he fucking _loved_ vanilla.

Roger felt high, the events of the day replaying in his mind like a badly edited roll of film, out of order and blurry, too fast and then again, the odd moment, stuck in a loop, on repeat. 

_Flying, soaring  
Shining, morning..._

Freddie gesticulating with a fork, laughing with a hand over his mouth.  
Freddie pulling at a strand of hair, biting his lower lip, speaking words Roger couldn't remember now.  
Friendship. Stop. _I don't know._  
Freddie slamming the door in his face, eyes like thunder.  
Freddie's rapid breath on his cheek, throaty moans of pleasure which set his very soul on fire.  
A tear running down Freddie's cheek, long fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. 

_Okay?_

_Okay._

Freddie's hair spread out like a halo around his head on the floor, a smile on his lips as he pulled him into a kiss that tasted of cigarettes and desire. Soft lips. He hadn't been lying. He _was_ a good kisser. 

_Love love love long  
Love love love long_

In hindsight, Roger didn't know what he had expected, but kissing Freddie had felt no different than kissing a girl. 

_It's still ice cream!_

_Exactly._

Except he hadn't felt like this when he had first kissed Carrie, or any of the other girls he remembered kissing recently. Or for a while, if he was honest. But then, he hadn't spent weeks thinking about any of them, dreaming about them and wondering about kissing them.  
In a strange way, kissing Freddie had made him feel almost as though he was thirteen years old again, desperately nervous to so much as lay a hand on Becky Eldrige's waist at the town hall social dance. 

It figured. 

It was a first, kissing a bloke.  
Roger bit his lip, brushing his fingertips over his stomach absently. If he put it like that, it still didn't quite compute.  
Because it wasn't just _a bloke_. It was _Freddie._ He was pretty sure there were no other boys he could even imagine kissing, or wanting to, for that matter. 

_Vanilla._

No, Roger decided right there and then, vanilla was much too boring to associate with Freddie.  
Pistachio, maybe. 

Or salted caramel. 

Sweet and tangy and a rich explosion of flavour.

He closed his eyes. 

It felt like the day had lasted approximately sixty hours. Surely, it had to be days ago now that he had stood on the porch of Freddie's family home, talking to Kash? Surely that couldn't have been this morning? 

Saying goodbye had proved almost impossible, because neither of them wanted to go. So they'd headed straight back to the pub and sat in a corner, knees touching and hands secretly brushing and caressing each other under the table. Feeling like they were the keepers of the world's most outrageous secret. Talking music and life and nonsense and, oddly enough, girls. Although Roger, while usually quick to share news of his conquests, hadn't brought up Carrie. He wasn't entirely sure why. 

_'Who would you take home?'_

_'In this room?'_

_'Yes.'_

_A mischievous glance, Freddie's hand grazing his thigh._

_'Present company excluded?'_

_Legs brushing under the table._

_'...Yes.'_

_'Hmm, let's see then. Two o'clock, at the bar.'_

_'The blonde?'_

_'Mhm.'_

_'Yeah, alright, I see it. Good arse.'_

_'I just like her style, I mean, look at her. She knows what's up. ...But yes, great arse, I have to say. Maybe I should go talk to her.'_

_'Maybe you should.'_

_'Maybe I will.'_

Freddie hadn't talked to any girls, in the end, and neither had Roger, for that matter. And no one had taken anyone home, although a part of him couldn't help but wonder _what if_.  
When they finally parted, with a brief hug and a smile, standing outside Freddie's house, Roger realised that if Freddie _were_ a girl and events had unfolded as they had, he wouldn't be alone in bed right now.

That realisation raised many questions. Had Freddie expected or wanted him to suggest they go back to his? Was he disappointed Roger hadn't? _Why_ hadn't he? 

Of course, he knew why. Kissing was one thing, even the sort of very _enthusiastic_ kissing they had engaged in earlier. But anything beyond that would not be the same as with a girl. 

And Roger still didn't know how he felt about that. Because it wasn't like he _actually_ fancied men. He just... liked Freddie. Who happened to be a man.  
He was sure this was different, _somehow_. 

But where did that leave him, exactly? 

Also, Roger thought bluntly, he didn't feel like he had much of an idea of what to do with a dick, which seemed ridiculous, because surely it should have been obvious. After all, he had one. 

But it wasn't obvious.  
It was unnerving. 

To go from pretty well-experienced, sexually, and pretty good at it, which he certainly considered himself to be, to feeling like he had no idea what he was doing, was _weird._

Maybe he was over-thinking it. 

Or maybe, he really should have thought it through _before_ dry-humping Freddie against a wall. 

Maybe. 

Maybe...

Maybe, baby... 

_I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles..._

A loud banging noise from downstairs made him jump. 

Roger opened his eyes and sat up, realising he had almost nodded off with the music still playing. 

"Sorry!" he shouted, probably just loud enough for the neighbours to hear, and got up to turn off the record player. 

\- - - 

April was coming to an end, and spring was finally hitting its stride. It was a sunny morning, not a cloud in the sky. A mild wind blew, sweeping strands of hair into Freddie's face as he stood at the corner waiting. Roger spotted him from afar, which wasn't difficult because Freddie was a sight to behold. White bell-bottom trousers, white platform shoes, a tight white cotton shirt, all of it only contrasted by the dark brown fur coat, a light pink linen scarf and the black and silver jewellery he wore. Sunglasses completed the look. He could have easily stepped out of a fashion magazine, Roger thought as his feet carried him faster toward that street corner, a pleasant, warm thrumming in his chest. As he came closer he also noticed the paper bag in Freddie's hand, which probably contained croissants, jam doughnuts or muffins and which Roger greatly appreciated. He'd had a ginger snap and a cup of tea for breakfast, so far.  
Just as Roger bounded up to him, hands in his pockets and a big smile on his face, Freddie looked his way and returned the smile. 

"You're early," Roger noted, resisting the overwhelming urge to lean in and peck him on the lips. 

"What do you know," Freddie lifted one eyebrow and managed to look smug _and_ coy simultaneously. "Living five minutes away really does help."

Roger was looking him over, appraisingly. Freddie noticed. 

"What?" 

"You're very... all that, today." Roger gestured to his outfit and the leather bracelets, silver pendants - one of them a clef - and multiple rings he was wearing. 

Freddie laughed, smoothing over his hair with his bejewelled fingers. "Don't I look _très chic_? I'm not in Feltham anymore, it's see and be seen around these parts of town."

He took off his sunglasses and hooked them into the front of his shirt. Roger was pretty sure he was wearing a hint of eyeliner. 

"Aw, and here I thought it was for my benefit," he teased. 

Freddie suppressed a grin, pulling his top lip over his teeth. "Don't flatter yourself, dear."

"I like the scarf," Roger noted, reaching out to tug at the end of the pale pink linen. "Nice touch."

Freddie shook his head and tutted quietly. "Yeah, well, that one is on you." 

"What do you mean?" Roger frowned. 

" _Honestly_ , Roger..." Freddie turned his head sideways, hooked one finger into the scarf and pulled it down slightly, revealing part of his neck. 

"Oh _shit_ ," Roger laughed, bringing a hand up to his mouth. An impressive number of hickeys decorated Freddie's neck, and Roger somehow felt both proud and embarrassed. "Sorry about that." 

Freddie moved the scarf back into place, not looking too upset over it. "It's alright, I don't mind," he said with a small smile, "They're just so unsightly."

They made their way up to Kensington Market together, sharing a cigarette and talking about nothing in particular. When Freddie opened the stall, they cast a quick look around and nipped inside, greeting each other in a much different manner than they had done previously. 

"Wait a minute, what's going on here?" Roger looked up at Freddie with a quizzical expression, thrown by the fact that the other man was noticeably taller than him in his platform boots, when usually they were almost the same height. "I'm not sure how I feel about this."

Freddie chuckled, one hand moving up over Roger's chest to the side of his neck. "I don't know, I think I like it." 

He leaned down and kissed him, deep and slow at first, and then all lips and teasing little licks. Roger melted into the kiss, bringing his hand up to Freddie's face. 

"Is this what our weekends are going to look like from now on?" Freddie half-laughed, half sighed against his lips, loosely wrapping his arms around the younger man's shoulders . "I mean, I could definitely get used to it." 

Roger didn't reply immediately, because kissing Freddie and losing his fingers in dark curls of hair took priority. There was less urgency in it, this morning. Neither of them chasing a goal and quite content with it being what it was. A passionate, leisurely kiss. But that didn't take away from the way it made Roger's pulse race and his insides tingle with excitement. There was a real danger of getting carried away again. One of Roger's hands was firmly on the door, holding it shut. He hadn't been able to shake the thought since yesterday that, even though it was very unlikely, someone could have easily walked in on them. 

"I've been thinking," Roger murmured, breaking the kiss for a moment. 

"Oh _no_ ," Freddie grinned, lifting his eyebrows. "Did it hurt?" 

" _Funny,_ " Roger pretended to glare, let go of the door, and reached around to give Freddie a smack on the arse. The intention had been mostly playful, but the result was definitely suggestive. Freddie jolted against him with a little gasp that had no business being quite so _naughty_. Roger felt his own body respond so immediately, it was almost disconcerting. _Oh, hello._ There was that urgency again, stirring in the pit of his stomach. His hand still on Freddie's arse, he gave it a squeeze and pushed their hips together, very aware of the buldge in Freddie's trousers, pressing against his lower abdomen, while he was hard against Freddie's thigh. 

Their lips met again and Freddie moaned into the kiss, a sound that he didn't think he could ever get enough of. 

Christ, how in the world were they ever going to get anything done if this carried on?

And then Roger heard them. Voices, fading in from outside through the soundscape of the market. Footsteps, coming to a halt just outside the door. He pulled away and met Freddie's eyes. Fred had clearly clocked them too because he looked positively panicked, mouth agape. 

"...sure I saw them come in a while ago. See? The lock's not on the chain." 

Alan, from the stall almost directly across from theirs. Roger's hand flew back up to the door, holding it shut while Freddie took a step back, one hand clasped over his mouth. 

There was a knock. 

"Roger? Fred?" 

_Fuck_ , was that Brian's voice? His stomach in freefall, Roger glanced at the door and back at Freddie, who gesticulated helplessly. 

_Fuckfuckfuck-_

The door handle moved and, with no other option left, Roger threw the door open first, stepping forward and almost straight into Brian. 

"He-ey! Bri!" he squinted against the bright light outside, desperately trying to sound as casual as he could, "How- How's... things?" 

"Yeah, fine," Brian smiled at him curiously, leaning in a little to glance inside the dark stall. Roger pushed in front of him and stepped outside, leaning the door shut. 

"I... I was just having a lie down," he said, and made a show of stretching with a big yawn. 

"Okay?" Brian frowned. "You alright?"

"Yeah, uh-huh," Roger scratched the back of his head, making a face, "I went out last night, really bad headache." 

"Should've told Fred to come in alone," Alan said, before Brian could respond, "He owes you, eh? I've not seen him around all last week." 

"Yeah, hah," Roger chuckled awkwardly in agreement while Alan gave him a pat on the shoulder. 

"Anyway, back to business," he said, giving a nod to Brian, and hurried back to his own stall. 

"So Fred's talking to you again?" Brian asked, sounding hopeful. 

"Oh, yeah," Roger looked up at him with a smile which he did not have to fake, "Yeah, we're good now. Water under the bridge." 

"Good, I'm really glad to hear that," Brian looked genuinely pleased, "Where is he?" 

"Hm?" 

"Well, Alan said-" 

"Oh!" Roger raised his eyebrows, drumming his fingers on the doorframe, "Yeah, he's... gone... to get some breakfast." 

The words left his mouth and he immediately realised what an idiot he was. What exactly was he going to do next? He'd just successfully lied himself into a dead end. 

However, suddenly, a stroke of brilliance hit him. Roger slapped his forehead and groaned. 

"Oh, _bugger_! I should've told him to get me a coffee. Ugh. I'm fucking _knackered_ and I really need one." 

He gave Brian what _he hoped_ was his best pitiful, pleading look. "Mate, I don't suppose you could get me one...? You know that espresso bar right across the street? They do paper cups now." 

"Do they," Brian sighed. "Well, if you've got some change-" 

"Yes!" Roger dug into his pocket and held out a handful of coins. "Cheers, Bri, you're a bloody _legend._ "

"Yeah, yeah..." Brian gave him a lop-sided, good-natured smile, turning to go, "How do you want it?" 

Roger waved him away toward the stairwell. "Strong. Dash of milk, two sugars."

"Alright. Back in a bit." 

When he had reached the stairs, Roger exhaled the breath he had been holding and swung the door open, stepping back inside.  
Freddie had backed all the way into the corner and had both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. He lowered them slowly.

"Are they gone?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh god," Freddie breathed, bracing himself on the wall with one hand. 

"Fucking hell," Roger started laughing, he couldn't help it. The rush of adrenaline was making him giddy. Also, now that the whole thing was over, he was beginning to wonder why they had panicked so badly. Even if they'd literally just opened the door and waved hello, with no explanation whatsoever, Brian and Alan probably wouldn't have thought much of it.  
Because who would even _believe_ -

"It's not funny," Freddie said quietly, watching him from the corner. 

"It's a bit funny," Roger snickered, and sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I don't even think that place has paper cups. I've sent him on a wild goose chase."

He was snickering again. Fred just stared at him. 

"Just so we're clear," Freddie said resolutely, his voice gaining strength, "We are never _ever_ doing this again." 

The laughter died away. Now it was Roger's turn to stare at him, taken aback.

"I mean, here," Freddie clarified, his tone softer, "Not _here._ " 

"Okay," Roger nodded, and stepped closer. "Hey... It's fine," he tried, appeasingly, and reached out to touch Freddie's arm, but the older man flinched away and manouvered himself past him instead, peeking out through the door. 

"Let's open up quick, Alan's busy."

By the time Brian returned, carrying a bottle of Coca-Cola and a Sunday newspaper, Freddie was chatting to a girl who had stopped to browse through some clothes. If Roger didn't know how distraught he had been only minutes ago, he would have never guessed. Freddie acknowledged Brian with an enthusiastic smile and a wave, and Brian, not wanting to disturb, waved back and made his way to Roger. 

"They didn't have to-go cups," he informed him, "I got you a Coke." 

"Aw, really? I was sure they did," Roger lied, "Cheers, anyway, I really appreciate it." 

He took the bottle, reaching for his keys to pop off the bottle cap. 

"Anyway, I tried ringing you last night but you weren't home, and I missed you again this morning so I figured you were here," Brian told him, leaning against the side of the stall with one shoulder. 

"Why, what's up?" Roger asked. 

"I spoke to Reizner again about our schedule next week and, basically, we've pretty much got the studio from five o'clock until late," Brian informed him. 

"That's great, right? More time." 

"Well, yes, but it'll be one hell of a week," Brian, who out of all of them would not, under any circumstances, compromise on his studies, looked somewhat concerned, "I'm just saying, it sounded to me like there's going to be a lot of really late nights."

"Eh, it'll be alright," Roger shrugged and broke into a grin, "We're recording an album! I don't care if I don't sleep all week." 

"A single," Brian corrected him, but he, too, was grinning. The urge to high-five was strong, even though they had already done that, approximately two hundred times, since last Saturday. 

"Yeah, and then an album! Come on, think big!" Roger was getting excited again, _finally_ , with the whole Freddie debacle no longer weighing on his mind, "I'm telling you, nevermind college. We'll be touring the world a year from now and no one's gonna be asking for your Astrophysics degree." 

Brian chuckled, although he didn't look like he wanted to forget about college quite as much as Roger did. 

"Anyway, who'd you go out with yesterday?"

"Freddie," Roger replied simply, because it wasn't technically a lie, even though they hadn't exactly _gone out_. 

"Are you gossiping about me?" 

Freddie had appeared beside them, fanning himself with three one pound notes, one hand on his hip. 

"Ka-ching, lovies!" he boasted as they turned to look at him. 

"Nice work!" Roger nodded appreciatively, taking a sip of his Coke while Freddie pocketed the money. 

"Hey Fred, how are you?" 

Brian and Freddie exchanged a smile and a pat on the shoulder. 

"Fine, dear, how are you? I hear you're recording next week." 

"Yeah!" Brian exchanged a look with Roger. "Can't believe it really. Hey, I was thinking," he continued, addressing Freddie. "I don't want to ask now because I just really don't know what the situation will be, but if it's possible, I'll see if you can come to the recording studio one day next week." 

Freddie's eyes lit up.

"Thank you so much, I would love that," he said, genuinely touched, and Roger suddenly felt awful because he hadn't even thought to suggest it. 

"Don't thank me yet," Brian chuckled, running a hand through his unruly hair, "But I'll try." 

"Yeah, good idea!" Roger chimed in, a little too late. Brian and Freddie looked at him, and then returned to their conversation. 

"What's going on the A-side? Have you decided?"

"Well..." 

The three of them talked about the record for a while, Freddie enthusiastically making his opinions known and Brian acknowledging them patiently. Having already heard most of them the night before, Roger wandered off to attend to potential customers for a while.

It was coming up to midday when Brian bid them goodbye, and told Roger he might be back with Tim in the evening to have one last drinks-slash-band meeting at the Kensington before they started recording. 

Roger and Freddie spent another hour and a half trying to entice passers-bys into spending money, while simultaneously working out the crossword in the newspaper Brian had left behind, until the lunchtime lull hit. 

"Let's go to Hyde Park," Roger suggested, putting down his pen after he'd filled in the last word in the crossword - ferocious. 

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the grass, away from the main paths, eating sandwiches. That is, Roger was sitting on the grass. Freddie had taken off his clunky shoes and was very carefully perched, cross-legged, atop Roger's jacket. When Roger had suggested sitting on the grass - because he preferred it, honestly, on a nice sunny day like today - Freddie had pointed to his mostly white outfit, scandalised, and asked him if he had any idea how difficult it was to get grass stains out. Foolishly, Roger had told him he could just sit on his fur coat then. Freddie's eyes had almost bulged out of his head at the very idea. 

In a way, Roger thought, amused at the notion, dating Freddie probably wasn't _much_ different than dating a girl, either. 

Not that anyone was _dating_ anybody. 

"Fred?" he asked, breaking a moment of silence. 

"Hm?" Freddie was busy with his sandwich. 

Roger watched him pick out a bit of mealy tomato, contemplate it, and toss it away into the grass. 

"Do you think Brian would mind at all? If he knew, I mean." 

Freddie went very still for a moment, and then simply shrugged. 

"I don't want him to know." 

Roger took a bite of his sandwich, watching a couple of starlings flutter to the ground nearby, hoping for a crumb. 

"Yeah, but that's not what I asked." 

Freddie gave an exasperated sigh. 

"Not a clue. And it doesn't matter, because he'll never know."

He turned to look at Roger and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, 'got that?'  
Roger could just about make out his eyes behind the sunglasses and held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, deciding to drop the subject.  
He rolled his shoulders and leaned back, stretching out his legs and lying down in the grass, one arm tucked underneath his head. There wasn't anyone in their immediate vicinity, except for two lovebirds a few metres away, also enjoying the sunshine. They were chatting, and as Roger watched them absent-mindedly, the girl laughed and leaned over to kiss her boyfriend, who wrapped an arm around her and hugged her closer. 

Roger turned away and eyed Freddie's back, shoulders hunched over, the contour of his spine visible through his shirt. He reached out, delicately running the tips of his fingers over the small of his back.  
Freddie straightened a little. 

"It sucks that I can't touch you," Roger said softly. 

Freddie shook his head, with a hint of a chuckle, as though in disbelief that Roger would just come out and say such a thing over lunch.

"You _are_ touching me," he pointed out. 

"I want to touch you _more_ ," Roger complained, sounding a bit like a petulant child, and pulled his hand back, folding it underneath his head instead. 

Freddie finished his own sandwich and brushed off his hands, planting them in the grass behind him and leaning back. 

"I mean, I'd say let's go back to yours tonight," he looked at Roger over his shoulder, "but you have your band meeting." 

"It's just drinks," Roger was squinting against the sunlight to make out Freddie's face, "Don't think for a moment you're not invited."

Freddie looked pleased, his top lip trying to hide the smile on his face and not entirely succeeding. 

_Let's go back to yours..._

"Okay, about that though," Roger closed his eyes, a mild, nervous flutter taking hold in the pit of his stomach. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Of course, dear." 

"It's pretty personal." 

Freddie snorted quietly. "I appreciate the heads-up."

"Alright, well... When you, um, did this before, at school..." 

"Oh god, Roger, what?" 

Roger hesitated, biting his lip. Then he shifted onto his side, head propped up on one hand, and looked back up at Freddie, who had tilted his head up toward the sky. His face was basking in the sun, neck long and dark hair hanging down his back. The scarf had slipped a little. Roger stared at a reddish purple blemish just below his ear. 

"Was it ever more than just kissing?" he finally asked. 

The silence that followed was so long he began to wonder if Freddie had simply decided to ignore the question. Nothing about his face indicated that he had even heard it. Until he sighed and quietly answered. 

"Sometimes." 

'Oh, wow, okay', thought Roger, not sure whether he was actually surprised or not. 

"And what- I mean-," he said and then grimaced, shaking his head. "You know what, nevermind. You don't have to answer that." 

Freddie leaned forward and shook out his hair, brushing the grass off his hands before he ran his fingers through it, smoothing it back into shape as he spoke. "It wasn't _much_ more. I mean, I dread to think what you're imagining." 

Roger chuckled, and looked down. "I wasn't... I just, I guess I don't really know where this is going," he told the grass in front of him. 

"It doesn't have to go anywhere," Freddie said lightly, "if you don't want to?" 

His voice went up at the end, making it more of a question than a statement.

"I do want to," Roger ran his fingers back and forth over the soft grass, "I think." 

"You _think_..." 

He could hear the eye roll, but also the smile, in Freddie's voice. 

"Okay, no," he said and looked up, pushing himself up off the ground and into a sitting position, "I'm actually pretty sure." 

Freddie turned to him and met his eyes, fingers brushing each other in the grass. 

"Alright," he smiled, "But I think we need some ground rules."

"Like what?" 

"Well, I've also been thinking," Freddie informed him, arching an eyebrow. 

"Oh _no_ ," Roger laughed as he parroted his response from earlier. Freddie tutted and threw a small handful of grass in his direction. A mistake, because retaliation was immediate. 

"Not in my _hair_!" Freddie gasped, which only gave Roger something to aim for. 

"No, but Rog, listen, listen," he laughed and tapped Roger on the knee to get his attention before the whole thing escalated, "I'm trying to say something and it's important!" 

Roger abandoned his pursuit of ruining Freddie's hair. 

"Okay, I was thinking that," Freddie glanced up at the sky, searching for the words, and rolled his wrist the way he often did when he spoke. A graceful, fluid gesture, "if there's a point where we feel like... Where it gets _too much_ , and it's getting in the way of us being friends... then it needs to stop."

That was definitely sensible, Roger thought.

"Yeah," he nodded, "Friends first." 

Freddie smiled, playing with one of his pendants. "Friends first." 

"And if you or me want to stop," Roger added, "at any point, for whatever reason, then that's it, no questions asked. Deal?" 

"Deal," Freddie agreed and held out his hand. 

They shook on it, very solemnly, and immediately broke out laughing. 

"Pleasure doing business with you," Freddie bowed his head with a little flourish. 

"Likewise," Roger grinned, returning the gesture. 

Life was a breeze, after all.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, quick announcement. I am so obsessed with this story that it's eating up my actual life. All I do is write. I can't keep updating so frequently. For my own sanity, I will update once a week from now on. Most likely every Friday/Saturday.
> 
> Having said that, can't wait for your comments! Can't wait to hear your thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very complex inner life of Freddie Bulsara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, I didn't even last a week with the more spaced out update schedule. I give up. lol Someone help me, this story has taken over my entire life.
> 
> This chapter is... probably not at all what you'd expect. I hope you didn't think this story was going to be a straightforward affair. 
> 
> A LOT of notes at the end.

\- - - 

The telephone started ringing the moment Roger closed the front door. He stared at it, a little spooked by the timing and the fact that it was ringing so late in the evening.  
Then he made his way over and picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Hello, _stranger._ " 

Roger relaxed and dropped down onto the sofa, a smile on his face. "Crikey, Fred. Your timing is uncanny."

"Oh really? Why's that?"

"I just walked in." 

An outburst of laughter on the other end of the line. "Maybe I'm psychic." 

Roger grinned. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking right now?" 

Freddie's voice moved noticeably closer to the receiver. "You're thinking about me."

"No shit, Sherlock. I'm talking to you." 

"You're thinking about me..." There was a dramatic pause. "... _without my clothes on_." 

Roger laughed out loud. "You know, I can honestly say I wasn't." 

"But you are _now_." 

Roger's laughter petered out in a sigh and he propped his elbow up on the backrest, putting his face in his hand. Christ, he was tired. 

"Have you just come from the pub?" 

"What are you _saying_ -" Freddie began, acting offended, but dropped the act almost immediately. "I may have had a couple of port infused lemonades."

"Mhm." 

"I'm not _drunk_." 

" _Anyway_ ," Roger smiled, closing his eyes, "what's up?" 

"What's up!?" Freddie's voice hit a high note at the end, borderline scandalised. "I want to know _everything_ , that's what's up, you fucker! It's been three days and I've not heard from any of you lot!" 

Brian hadn't been wrong. What with classes and their time spent at Trident Studios, their schedule this week was gruelling. Roger hadn't seen or spoken to Freddie since Sunday night, partly because Freddie's new flatshare did not have a landline, and when Freddie was at the market in the afternoons, Roger was in the studio. 

"There's really not that much to tell..." Roger said, not sure how to sum up the last few days concisely. It was late, he was shattered and everything was a bit of a blur.  
Freddie, of course, wasn't content with that. 

"Oh, give over! Tell me something fruity." 

Roger's head had drooped and he was slowly nestling into the crook of his arm. "You just called for the gossip, didn't you." 

"Obviously, darling!" Freddie sounded amused. Roger was trying not to fall asleep and opened his eyes.

"It's like rehearsals..." he yawned. "Except we're all trying to behave and no one's yelling or throwing things."

"Sounds civilised."

"Although Brian came close today."

"Oh really?" 

Roger snorted. "Yeah. Tim said he wasn't sure the guitar solo in 'Earth' was strong enough." 

"Dearie me!" 

"I know. It's only Wednesday and we're all pretty knackered. We didn't finish til one in the morning last night. Anyway, everyone's patience is, err, wearing a bit thin. Let's see how we survive til the end of the week-"

"What are the chances that I could come by the studio tomorrow or Friday?" Freddie jumped in, almost cutting him off. "Have you asked?" 

"No, we forgot," Roger dead-panned. 

"Roger!" Freddie sounded genuinely distressed. 

"I'm kidding," he chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Yes, we asked, and yes, you can come. On Friday." 

"And when were you going to tell me that!?" 

"Now. I'm telling you now." 

"What if I hadn't called?" 

"I would've told Tim to tell you." 

"What if I didn't run into-" 

"Freddie, calm down," Roger sighed, and shifted on the couch to lean his head back against the backrest instead, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Don't tell me to calm down." 

"Sorry." 

"Maybe this isn't a big deal for you, because you're on your way to international stardom, but before you forget all about little old me please do try to remember that it _is_ a big deal for _some_ of us!" 

"Aw, we'll never forget about you, Fred," Roger said affectionately, "You'll always be our number one fan." 

There was a long silence. Roger frowned, thinking for a moment that they had been disconnected. 

"Fred?" 

"Yeah," Freddie replied curtly. "Alright, I suppose you're tired and I should let you go." 

Roger was about to agree when he suddenly remembered, and raised his head. 

"Oh, hang on a minute. Now that I'm talking to you... Do you have any plans this weekend?" 

"Not yet. Well, I was going to pick up some of my things from my parents' house. Why?" 

"Do you want to come to _my_ parents' house instead? I'm heading down to Truro Saturday to Monday, what with the bank holiday." 

"That sounds great," said Freddie, and Roger thought there was something off about his tone, but he couldn't put a finger on it. 

"But?" 

"But nothing, darling, it sounds great, I'd love to come." 

"Oh, right," Maybe he had been mistaken. "Sorry, the way you said it- Nevermind." 

"I don't have much change left, dear," Freddie informed him, "When and where on Friday?" 

"Uhh... Let's meet outside Oxford Street station at half past four. Okay?"

"Perfect, I'll see you there." 

"Everything alright with you?" 

"Yes, fine." 

"Alright, well..." Roger mumbled through a yawn, "See you soon." 

"Goodnight."

"Night, Freddie." 

\- - - 

Freddie hung up the phone and automatically hit the B button even though he knew he'd used up his last fourpence on the call. His finger remained on the button for a moment, even after the telephone produced no change, as he stood, lost in thought. The lights of the cars passing by and the streetlights outside the telephone box window created an impressionist moving collage of pastels against the pitch black night. 

_Aw. You'll always be our number one fan._

Freddie frowned and shook himself out of his reverie, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air. He felt cold, all of a sudden. Cold and tired and a little dizzy. Not at all the way he had felt before he had made the call, and he didn't know how to feel about that. 

Just as he was about to make his way toward home, his hand flew up to his chest as he realised something was missing. He cursed under his breath, realising he had left his scarf at the pub. 

It was almost closing time when he returned to the Kensington. Sure enough, there it was, crumpled on the floor next to the chair where he had sat. Chris and Paul were still at the bar and didn't notice Freddie immediately as he made for their abandoned table to pick it up off the floor.  
But instead of heading straight back out, Freddie dropped down onto the chair and listlessly placed the scarf around his neck, staring at the old wooden table. Its surface was sticky with drying remnants of spilled drinks between the empty pint glasses. Frowning at the patterns, circles and lines, as if he was trying to make sense of them and yet not really seeing them at all, he eventually leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

It was Chris who turned around and noticed him. The art student elbowed Paul, exchanging a look with him, and stepped closer. 

"Hey Fred, what's going on? You alright?" 

For a moment Freddie didn't react. But then he slowly lifted his head and looked him in the eye. 

"Yeah," he said, very solemnly, and swallowed. "I'm not going to be a pop star." 

Chris just raised his eyebrows with a small sympathetic smile. But before he could say anything, Freddie stood and drew himself up to his full height, his chin held high. 

"I," he said firmly, arms open wide in a grand gesture, "am going to be a fucking _legend_."

Chris's eyebrows only rose higher in surprise as he watched his college friend toss his cotton scarf over one shoulder and march out of the pub like a man on a mission. 

\- - - 

_Three days earlier..._

Monday morning dawned grey and gloomy. 

An hour before his own alarm would have gone off, Freddie was awoken by Kevin's alarm. He could already tell this was something he would have to get used to. And even though he tried to go back to sleep while his roommate pottered around and got ready, it was a futile endeavour which he abandoned after a torturous twenty minutes of tossing and turning.  
There were three people in the kitchen-slash-living room, a pile of dishes in the sink from last night and every tea mug had been taken. Freddie managed to get into the bathroom early enough to enjoy a lukewarm shower, brought his hair in order while sipping tea from a pint glass and felt less grumpy by the time he was dressed and satisfied with his outfit. 

Standing on a full train on his way to class, surrounded by commuters buried in newspapers, Freddie stared at a flickering light in the carriage and his mind took flight. He longingly thought of bright, warm sunshine at the park and pleasant company. The weekend seemed like a dream, the little moments he remembered simply figments of his imagination, except he knew they were not. An elderly man was staring at him with a strange expression, and Freddie tried to reign in the grin on his face for fear of looking like a maniac. 

He almost missed his stop, day-dreaming about sky blue eyes, surprisingly strong hands, slightly callused in places where they were used to holding drum sticks, and the most heart-wrenchingly gorgeous and infectious smile he had ever known. 

It was a shame they'd had to part on Sunday night. All four of them, Brian and Tim and himself and Roger, had stayed at the Kensington until closing time. Freddie's way home did not coincide with Roger's way to the tube station, and as he had told everyone where he lived, there was really no inconspicuous way to leave together. Instead, the three of them had gone to the station and Freddie had walked off alone, wondering what Roger would do if he showed up on his doorstep uninvited forty-five minutes later. 

It was a mad idea, of course. 

Given that Roger did have a busy week ahead of him and considering that the younger man seemed a little uncertain about where the path they had embarked on inevitably lead, it probably wouldn't have been a wise thing to do. Freddie didn't really understand Roger's concerns, nor did he share them. Granted, Saturday had been incredibly overwhelming, in every way. But by Sunday, he was very clear within himself about what he wanted. And more so, who. Freddie was _ready_.  
For whatever came next. 

Anything. 

Everything. 

He felt starved of affection, desperate to be touched, kissed and caressed. Desperate to do the same to another.  
Aside from the odd drunken kiss, it had been a while since he'd been able to enjoy anything of the sort. There was a girl he'd been seeing a few months ago, but they had broken up just after New Year's. The last time they'd been in bed together had been well before Christmas.  
Four months felt like an awfully long time right now. 

If Roger was at all unsure about what they might get up to together, Freddie contemplated, he was perfectly willing to write him a very detailed and very indecent letter describing all the things he desired to do. In fact, he was beginning to seriously considering it. Especially given that he knew they weren't going to see each other much, if at all, this week. Which was infinitely frustrating. 

By lunchtime, during a free period between classes, Freddie found himself sitting on the floor in a quiet corner, chewing on his pen and staring at a half-finished sketch in his notebook, with no interest in continuing it. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind him, his head full of _Roger_. 

And so he took a deep breath, flipped to the end of his notebook, and began to write. 

By the time he was finished, his cheeks were burning and he no longer had any intention of showing any of it to Roger, but decided to keep this literary treasure for himself. 

It was a beauty. 

\- - - 

On Tuesday morning it was still drizzling after a rainy night. 

Freddie managed to sleep in a little and took a cold shower as a result, managed to snag an actual mug of tea and then had the misfortune of getting splashed by a bus on his way to Ealing. 

He was in the men's bathroom between classes, trying to get mud stains out of his white bell-bottoms, when Chris came in.

"Hey Fred, how are you?" 

"Hey Chris," Freddie muttered under his breath, dabbing at his trousers with a wet clump of tissue paper. 

Chris went about his business and returned a couple of minutes later to wash his hands, glancing over at him curiously. 

"Gosh, shame about the trousers." 

"Yeah," Freddie sighed, exasperated. 

"Hey, how are Tim and the guys doing? Aren't they recording their album this week?" 

Freddie looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

"Single," he corrected him, sounding a bit vexed and feeling it, too. "Yes, they are. I've no idea how they're doing, I haven't spoken to them yet."

"Man, that's so boss," Chris was saying, shaking the water off his hands. "Do you reckon they'll be famous?" 

Freddie returned to rubbing at the offesive muddy stains. " _No_ idea," he replied, and immediately realised it had come off sounding a little bitter. "I mean, I hope so, for them." 

There, that was better. Good Freddie. Supportive Freddie. Not asshole-who-was-genuinely-wondering-why-the-world-was-overlooking-him-in-favour-of-the-less-talented Freddie. 

"So, come on then, when's _your_ single going to come out?" Chris waggled his eyebrows, drying his hands. "Better get a move on, they're beating you to it!" 

It wasn't vicious. It was a good-natured jest, gently ribbing him for the many times he had boasted to his Ealing friends that he intended to be a pop star one day. 

However, Chris had picked precisely the wrong moment to make that joke. 

Freddie straightened up and tossed the clump of tissue into the sink, glaring at the other student.

"Hilarious, _darling_. Don't you have somewhere else to be?" 

"Geez," Chris held up his hands, looking him over with a frown. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I was only joking." 

Then he headed out the door, leaving Freddie alone and feeling truly terrible. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just be happy for his friends and be done with it?  
But, by god, he had _tried_ that and he _could not_ do it. Much as he had attempted to put it all out of his mind, the envy and bitterness had never left. It was always there, gnawing away at him. Festering. It was ugly and he hated it and he couldn't help it. 

Why the _fuck_ wouldn't they even consider letting him join the band? What was _so terribly wrong_ with him that this was such an unthinkable idea? 

Of course, it was too late for that now anyway. 

Whatever for had he spent hours and hours hanging out with Brian analysing Hendrix, just to make him see how well he understood music and his precious guitar?  
Whatever for had he singled out Roger the moment he had met Tim's band, immediately realising that the extroverted drummer would be the easiest to befriend?  
_Whatever for_ had he helped them every step of the way in every way he could, and supported them relentlessly only to then be forgotten by the wayside as they embarked on their road to fame? 

All for _nothing._

Instead of the market, Freddie nipped home after college - to change and throw his clothes in the wash, among other things - and then went to the high street. The truth was that while he was very careful with his money, he wasn't exactly starving just yet. After a previous flatshare in Ealing had fallen apart, he had moved back home for a few months. Just enough time to accumulate some savings. They were not significant, but enough to allow himself a pleasure he was otherwise only rarely able to enjoy; shopping.

The moment Freddie stepped into Biba, it was as though a weight was lifted off his chest. The store was a beautiful, bohemian palace of fashion dreams and creativity, and it was simply impossible to feel miserable here. 

Some ten minutes later he was eyeing a short fur jacket that had caught his eye, not for the first time in the last few weeks whenever he had stopped by here. The coat he had appropriated from the market stall was all well and good, but what with the spring weather he needed something a bit more seasonally appropriate. He was running his fingers along the soft fur, head tilted to one side, when he heard a voice. 

"Anything I can help you with today?" 

Freddie's face lit up and he turned around, a smile on his lips. 

"Mary...!" 

The blond shop girl smiled back, one hand automatically smoothing over the clothes hanging in front of them. 

"I came in last week and you weren't here. I was afraid you might have quit," he told her, raising his eyebrows, eyes wide, to underline the awfulness of that idea. 

Mary laughed. A soft, melodic sound. "No, I was just working mornings," she explained, "But I'm back to afternoons now." 

"Good, that's good," Freddie found himself saying, not entirely sure why. He had no idea if she preferred working mornings or afternoons. All he knew was that he always looked forward to running into her when he came here. There was something about her. Something very quiet, kind and gentle. Something genuine and sweet. Her eyes seemed a little sad and thoughtful, even when she smiled, and that intrigued him.  
She didn't seem to be like other girls he knew. 

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Mary asked when he continued to blink at her wordlessly for a few moments. 

"Oh," Freddie turned, trying to remember what he had been looking at, and spotted the fur jacket again, "yes, this. How much is it?" 

Mary glanced back and forth between him and the jacket, a peculiar look in her eyes. "Is it... for someone else?"

"No?" Freddie frowned, not understanding the question. "Why would it be?" 

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry, only I didn't want to assume," her tone was apologetic, her expression a little embarrassed. "This is the ladies' section."

"Oh," Freddie took his hand off the jacket, looking around. "There wasn't a sign or anything..." 

It dawned on him that he must have frequented parts of the ladies' section accidentally more than once before, and not just when looking for outrageous stage outfits for the band. And Mary had probably noticed that, too.  
Freddie felt himself blush.

Mary watched him for a moment and then reached for the jacket and took it off the hook. 

"I don't think it should really matter, do you?" She said, and held it out to him with an earnest expression. "In fact, I think this one might fit." 

Freddie left Biba with a new fur jacket, two shirts and a silk scarf that afternoon, feeling much better about himself. 

By the time he was sitting on his bed, absent-mindedly plucking at the strings of his guitar - god, but he missed the piano - and strumming the handful of chords he knew, he felt like a bit of an idiot.  
What in the world had come over him? _Of course_ he was happy for Roger and the others, above all else. 

_"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you..."_ he sang quietly, gazing out of the window. It wasn't by any stretch a song he particularly liked, but it was very easy to play. _"Remember I'll always be true..."_

The thought of asking Mary out on a date had crossed his mind more than once since Brian had introduced them back in February, but he hadn't quite worked up the nerve to do it yet. What if she had a boyfriend? Or worse, what if she simply didn't want to go out with him? 

And anyway, right now probably wasn't the best time to do it, either. Not now, when... 

His fingers stilled over the strings. 

Not now, when this whole thing with Roger had somehow come to pass. Freddie strummed a lazy A minor.  
The more he thought about it, away from the reality of his feelings in the moment, with the vividness of the memories from the weekend fading, the more his mind was trying to rationalise the situation. Realistically, he thought, he harboured no hope whatsoever for any longevity of what had started between them. If experience had taught him anything, it was that boys got bored easily, once they were satisfied. And this was Roger, of all people. Roger, who had a telephone number collection the size of a small town's telephone book and who changed girlfriends more frequently than he changed shirts. Undoubtedly, Freddie was just a novelty right now. An exception, an exciting secret. The allure wouldn't last, it simply couldn't, and he was prepared for that eventuality. 

It was fine, Freddie told himself. He was fine with that. 

_Friends first._

But, by god, he was going to enjoy every second of it until the moment came when Roger would inevitably want to call it quits.

And Freddie would ask no questions. And suffer no lies.

Someone rapped at the door and he jumped, looking up. 

"Yes?" Freddie slowly put the guitar aside.

"Hey, Ronnie says that's your washing sitting in the machine?" An annoyed female voice called through the door. "I need to use it, please?"

"Sorry," Freddie called back, "Just a minute!" 

\- - - 

On Wednesday morning Freddie woke up to Kevin's alarm and slowly became aware of bright sunlight on his face, falling through the shutters. He didn't want to open his eyes, because his mind was still clinging on to the dream he had been torn from, and from what he could remember even as it slipped away, he had been dreaming about Roger. This was perhaps a result of the fact that he had tried to call his friend just before bed, with no luck.

In his dream, Roger had been happy to see him, after what seemed like a long time apart. 

It wasn't, Freddie reminded himself. 

It had only been two days.

There seemed to be no option between scalding hot and freezing cold in the shower this morning. And all the mugs were taken again. 

He was going to buy his own bloody mug.

The morning and early afternoon dragged on and on. Freddie alternated between trying to concentrate, tapping his pencil on his desk impatiently and staring out of the window. Of course, this _would_ be the week when he hadn't seen Tim around at all. It was mid-week, and frankly, he was dying to know how his friends were getting on at the studio. 

The market was a welcome distraction. People seemed exceptionally chatty, their mood lifted by the return of the sunny weather, and when the two blokes from the record stall asked him if he wanted to join them for a drink as the market was closing, Freddie didn't say no. Once at the Kensington, they happened upon Paul and Chris. The previous day's incident now forgotten, Freddie happily invited them to join their table and before long, all five of them were drinking together and chatting away about student life, future plans and music. 

Just then, the door opened and a familiar face, framed by silky blond hair, entered his peripheral vision.  
Freddie did a double take, and broke into a smile. None other than Mary had walked in, along with a girlfriend. Her eyes scanned the room for a table and happened upon him. Freddie found himself waving the girls over without hesitation. The lads were most pleased with beautiful female company, and between the five men another round of drinks was bought, and another. And one more, just before last orders was called. 

Mary was quiet, Freddie exuberant. He was in familiar company and he'd had just enough to drink to hit that sweet spot between feeling like he could chat away all night and not yet stumbling over his words.  
The blond shop girl sat across from him all night, but when Mary's friend disappeared to the bathroom and one of the blokes went to the bar to settle the tab, a spot opened up and Freddie found himself scooting up to her. 

"It's strange talking to you like this, here," he told her, leaning in with a smile, "I still feel like I ought to be asking you fashion advice."

Mary chuckled and lifted her fingertips to her mouth, a gesture that rang a very familiar note for Freddie. 

"Don't," he said, before he could stop himself, "You have a lovely smile." 

"I... I don't like my teeth," she looked down, caught out and self-conscious. 

" _You_ don't like your teeth?!" Freddie exclaimed in sheer disbelief and gestured to his own mouth, somewhere between bewilderment and despair at his plight. "And what, pray tell, am I supposed to say?" 

Mary laughed, wholeheartedly and openly, this time. "But yours are perfectly straight! Mine are crooked." 

Freddie didn't know what to even say to that, he really didn't. If there was one word no one had _ever_ used to describe his teeth, it was 'perfect'. 

"Well, I mean..." he broke off and tutted, shaking his head, and took a sip of his port and lemonade, lost for words. 

Mary was studying his profile with great interest now. "You have such a unqiue look." 

He met her eyes for a moment, not entirely sure what to say to that, either. Was it a compliment? Or just another way of saying that he didn't look like he was _from here_? 

"I wonder how the boys are getting on at the studio," he said instead, trying to find common ground. The news had spread to everyone in their social circle, by now. 

"It's so exciting, isn't it?"

And immediately he regretted bringing it up, because the last thing he wanted, really, was to talk about how wonderful it was that Smile were getting their big break, and how much they deserved it, and how famous they were going to be. But what Mary said next was not what he had expected. 

"Are you going to record something, too?" 

"What?" Freddie caught her eye again, an uncertain smile on his face. "Why would you say that?" 

Mary looked surprised, and a little puzzled. "Oh... Aren't you a musician as well? I just always assumed... I mean, you look like one." 

"Do I?" Freddie raised his eyebrows, his smile widening. "I mean, I'd like to be." 

"You _are_ ," Mary insisted, smiling back at him, "The way you play the piano, and your voice..." 

Freddie was racking his brain. "When... when have you heard me sing?" 

"The first time we met," she told him, "at the lounge, at Imperial. Just before Brian told me who you are, you were playing the piano and you sang... Just a little, but I thought... well, I thought it was beautiful."

Freddie remembered. "I... uhm, thank you."

They sat beside each other in silence for a moment, both gazing into their drinks with the odd surreptitious glance at each other. 

"You know," Freddie spoke up, his tone very earnest, "I think it's what I was born to do." 

"Sing?" Mary asked. 

Freddie nodded. "Make music. But not just that. I want the whole world to hear it. I'm going to be famous, one day." 

He chuckled, nervously, and looked up at her. Expecting laughter or an eyeroll or that look he was most familiar with which clearly read 'oh, wow, you're quite full of yourself', but it was none of that. Instead, her eyes shone with fascination, almost as if she... _believed_ him. 

"I don't think I've ever met someone quite like you before," she said quietly. 

Freddie looked down, pulling his lips over his teeth to hide a smile, yet again struggling to think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid before it even left his mouth. She seemed to be having that effect on him. 

In that moment, Mary's friend returned. 

Their tab was paid up. The pub was going to close soon. 

The lads from the record shop, Mary and her friend and Freddie made their way outside, leaving Paul and Chris, who had managed to squeeze in a last round, to finish their drinks at the bar. 

Once outside, everyone wished each other a good night and took off in the direction of their respective homes. 

"I'll see you around," Freddie called, even as Mary's friend hooked arms with her and waved cheerfully, pulling her along toward the tube station. 

"Yes," Mary looked over her shoulder, "see you soon!" 

The last drink, half of it downed in a hurry, caught up with Freddie on his walk home. He felt almost giddy all of a sudden, excited about life and the future in a way he hadn't felt for some time. Humming a tune, he swung himself around a street lamp, almost bumping into a couple of passerbys.

"Sorry!" he laughed, manouvering around them with a turn and a skip, and continued down the road until the sight of a telephone box brought him to a halt.

With a smile on his lips, Freddie reached for his wallet. It was late. Maybe Roger was home? For once, he felt like he wanted to share in his friend's excitement without any misgivings niggling him at the back of his mind. So what if it wasn't him, right now, making a record? There would be more opportunities. There had to be, because he would find them and he wouldn't stop until he did. 

And all that aside, he _missed_ talking to Roger, silly as that was, after only three days. 

The phone rang a couple of times, and Freddie felt his heart leap with joy when Roger actually picked up. 

"Hello?" 

Freddie leaned against the side of the telephone box, looking out at the street with a big smile on his face. 

"Hello, _stranger._ "

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things I wanted to say:
> 
> \- The "I am going to be a legend" incident is real, as recounted in a documentary by Freddie's old college mate Chris, who is a real person.
> 
> \- I noticed Mary Austin has noticeably crooked front teeth in old pictures, and not in later pictures, which means they must have bothered her enough to actually have them fixed.
> 
> \- Yes, I borrowed a couple of lines from the movie here because I felt that moment was written so perfectly, I couldn't have possibly improved on it. 
> 
> \- This is very likely the most Mary will *actively* appear in this story. (It's still Froger, I promise, please don't run away, haha.) 
> 
> \- I made a playlist for this fic especially. Check it out on Spotify if you like: https://open.spotify.com/user/1115228922/playlist/5oddBUhHFcvwSXDPaeF0m3?si=86FlcDs6QGGelWk1XeqOkQ
> 
> And lastly, as always, let me know your thoughts!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward attempts at intimacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia time!  
> \- John Anthony was the producer in charge of Smile at Mercury Records and later helped Queen record their first album  
> \- The Speakeasy was a real club and music professionals' hangout near Oxford Street
> 
> I love this chapter. I feel like you should know that.

\- - - 

"Rog." 

Roger looked up from the pocket-sized notebook he was hunched over and closed it. 

"Oh, hey, Tim." 

His bandmate had found him on the full central line train, two stops short of Oxford Circus. 

"You working on something there?" Tim nodded toward the notebook. "I was talking to you and you didn't even hear me."

"Really? Sorry, yeah." Roger shrugged, stuffing the notebook into the pocket of his jean jacket. "I dunno, just some ideas for a song, maybe. I want to give it a bash if we're gonna record an album, you know?" 

"Right on," Tim nodded, and then broke into a smile. "Last day." 

"Yeah," Roger smiled back, "I feel it's gone really quick."

"I suppose," Tim agreed. "Mind you, I don't know about you but I'm cream crackered."

"Yeah, me too," Roger stretched in his seat, just as the doors opened at Bond Street station.

"Is Fred coming today?" 

"Yup," Roger confirmed. "I mean, I think so."

Tim nodded. 

"Did you tell him-" he broke off mid sentence, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he gazed out of the window behind Roger. 

The doors closed. 

"What?" Roger asked. 

Tim rolled his eyes up at the ceiling with a sigh. "I don't want to sound like a prick, but did you, I don't know, tell him not to be quite so _vocal_ about things... I mean, you know what he's like."

Roger knew.

"He won't. It's not just us there, I'm sure he'll just hang back and watch," Roger said, not at all sure.

"Okay," Tim said, his concerns not entirely alleviated. 

There was a brief silence until the train pulled up at the next station and Roger got up to go. 

"That's Oxford Circus," Tim pointed out. 

"Yeah, I get off here," Roger told him, waiting for the doors to open. 

"Why? Tottenham Court Road's closer." 

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," Roger shrugged. "And you have to walk back if you get off there. I don't like going back on myself."

"Fair enough." Tim said, and followed him out. 

"Besides, I told Freddie to meet me here." 

They exited the station together and Roger made his way ahead of Tim through the crowds of people, looking around for a familiar mop of dark hair. 

However, he was found first. 

"Roger!" 

Roger turned around, coming face to face with a beaming Freddie. 

"Hey!" he smiled, immediately realising how much he had missed this face, and the man it belonged to, and his stomach shouldn't have jolted the way it did, because what was the big deal anyway? It wasn't as if they hadn't seen each other in a long time. It had been five days. 

Just five days. 

"Hi Fred, how are you?" Tim came up behind him.

They exchanged greetings and small talk as they started down the busy high street, making their way to Trident Studios in Soho. 

\- - - 

The sun had set. The day was drawing to a close and so was their last recording session. 

"Psst, Roger." Brian whispered in Roger's direction. " _Roger_."

"Huh?" Roger stopped tinkering with his drum kit and looked up. 

"Check it out," Brian mouthed and subtly nodded toward the window to the control room, his expression amused and somewhat impressed. Freddie had taken over the technician's chair, with Don, their techie, happily sipping coffee behind him and pointing to a couple of switches as he explained something to him. Meanwhile, their producer, John, leaned in and made a remark which was followed by laughter from all three men. Then Freddie reached out and pressed the button by the microphone, quite as if that had been his job all week, while John leaned in to speak. 

"Alright, boys, one more time for good luck," his voice crackled through the speaker. Roger watched as Freddie said something and John turned to him, nodded, and leaned back into the mic. "Tim, make sure you follow Roger. And Brian, you can play around with it a bit, feel free."  
Roger, Brian and Tim gave them their thumbs up.  
By all appearances, the three men in the control room were working together like a well-oiled machine. 

It _was_ a bit impressive, Roger had to admit. Tim's worries had been unwarranted. 

Well, _sort of._

Upon arrival, Freddie had introduced himself very courteously and had all but blended into the background for the first hour or so, sitting very still at the back of the control room while he observed all the going-ons with great interest. Not a comment on anyone's performance, not even so much as a pointed look. None of them had really expected him to stay for more than a couple of hours, or that was what they had told John anyway when they had first asked about their friend coming to sit in for their recording session.  
But before long, backs became stiff and yawns were stifled, and immediately, Freddie had seized the opportunity and sprung into action. He'd gone on coffee runs, fetched sandwiches and served on their producer, technician and the three of them hand and foot for the duration of the session, not missing a single chance to make himself useful in any way he could. And the entire time, he was the very embodiment of charm and attention.  
As a result, first Freddie and Don, and soon enough John, too, got chatting. Don was a young lad, Roger's age, and John couldn't have been older than in his mid-twenties, Roger thought.  
Before long, Freddie appeared to have befriended them both. 

"If I'd known you're bringing me such a great assistant free of charge I would've told you to bring him along sooner!" John chuckled during a break, patting Freddie on the shoulder. 

Freddie only smiled sweetly and lifted his eyebrows in a rather innocent fashion, as though to say 'who, me?', but when he caught Roger looking at him, the smile turned cunning. He had planned this. More so, it was probably why he had been so keen on visiting them in the studio in the first place. 

While at first Roger wasn't sure what Freddie was hoping to achieve, he soon found himself admiring his foresight and determination. Having connections in the professional music industry couldn't hurt, and neither could knowing his way around a recording studio. Clearly, this was all part of a grander scheme to him. 

Towards the end of the session, Freddie had secured himself a firm spot beside John, a free tutorial of all the equipment courtesy of Don, and the right to pass on the odd note from John through the speaker system. 

It was the earliest they had finished all week when John finally called it a wrap at half past ten. Even though they'd had their tense moments over the course of the week, the mood was one of jovial camaraderie and a great sense of accomplishment. 

A celebration was called for, and without missing a beat, John suggested they go to the Speakeasy, a late night club just up from Oxford Street which was a known hangout for professionals in the music industry. John had worked as a club DJ there before Mercury Records had hired him and promised VIP treatment. 

It went without saying that Freddie was also invited. 

Before long, they were sitting around a table in a private corner of the club, drinks in hand and a complimentary bottle of Dom Pérignon on the table.  
Roger and Freddie had squeezed into the corner against the wall and although distracted by excitement and conversation as he was, Roger didn't fail to notice the way in which their legs very deliberately touched and brushed against each other. The most subtle hints of physical contact being all they could allow themselves, but it was there, and it made his insides tingle with anticipation for what might happen if they found a moment to be alone tonight. 

Meanwhile, Freddie cemented his newfound friendship with John, candidly sharing a few fascinating facts about his exotic background and not failing to mention his musical ambitions. Only by the by, of course. It was all brilliantly orchestrated, Roger had to admit. Beyond a shadow of doubt, he had gained a useful ally in John tonight. 

Some time into their second round of drinks, not counting the champagne, Roger found himself listening to rather than participating in a lively conversation Don, Tim and John were having. Brian had disappeared to the bathroom. Roger blinked slowly and swivelled his drink around in his glass - scotch and lemonade - realising he felt a little tipsy. He took a final drag from the cigarette he was holding and stubbed it out in the ashtray. Maybe it was the fact that he was exhausted, or the fact that he hadn't had a proper dinner, none of them had, but the booze was definitely getting the better of him tonight. Not in an awful way, just yet. He felt pleasantly relaxed. Fuzzy around the edges. Hot. 

Roger glanced over at Freddie, who had his elbows on the table and his glass in both hands, close to his lips. He was pretty sure that, unlike himself, Freddie was still nursing his first drink. However, he too had grown quiet.  
It felt as though they had both made a concentrated effort all night to avoid looking at or talking to each other too much. 

Until now. 

Roger gave him a gentle nudge with his leg and Freddie met his eyes. 

"You happy with how this turned out then?" Roger asked, waggling his eyebrows a little in a knowing sort of way. 

"I suppose I am," Freddie took a look around the club, and present company, not without a hint of complacency. "And you?" he returned the question. "Happy with the record, dear?" 

Roger nodded. "Very. Quite proud, too, I must say," he added with a crooked smile. 

Freddie watched him for a moment, smiling into his drink as he took a small sip. 

"Good. As you should be." 

He gave Roger a reassuring little nudge under the table, their eyes still trained on each other.  
Unable to resist temptation any longer, Roger very casually lowered one hand beneath the table and placed it over Freddie's knee. 

Freddie's lips parted, but he said nothing. Dark brown eyes darted to the others at their table, who were still engaged in conversation, and back to Roger. Cautious, but not disapproving.  
Roger licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry, and leaned in to make himself heard over the music without having to speak any louder than necessary. 

"I missed you." 

Freddie lowered his drink onto the table and put his chin in his hand, an all but coquettish smile on his face as his eyes flicked down to Roger's lips and back up. Roger grinned. 

_If only._

Casting another glance at the others to assure himself none of them were paying them any mind, Freddie let go of his drink and also slipped his hand under the table. His fingers gently grazed Roger's leg, circled around his knee, and slowly travelled halfway up the inside of his leg. Roger shivered and felt a pleasant, prickling sensation take hold in the pit of his stomach. Undeniably, the sheer audacity of doing something so forbidden, just out of sight, added to the excitement. Which was stupid, because he didn't even want to imagine being caught. _And yet_.... 

They both looked away, for fear of staring at each other for too long, but Freddie's hand remained just where it was, administering minute, tantalising caresses. 

Meanwhile, Freddie opened his legs a little wider and edged forward in his seat. An invitation which Roger gladly took. Much in the same way the other man was doing to him, he slowly ran his fingers up Fred's inner thigh, watching him out of the corner of his eye. The way Freddie's breath seemed to slow and deepen, shoulders drawing back and chest heaving slightly, may have been too subtle to notice for everyone else but it did not escape Roger's attention. His mind was very quickly going down a slippery slope of memory and fantasy. 

_You're thinking about me..._

Freddie's words from the other day rang in his head. 

_... without my clothes on._

He certainly was _now_.  
Freddie's fingers moved just a little higher up the inside of his leg and Roger's hand tightened around his glass. Christ, he wanted to kiss him so much that it was unbearable. 

Just then, Brian returned and plopped down into his seat next to Freddie, who immediately pulled his hand away and put his elbows on the table again, folding one arm atop the other. 

Roger's hand, however, remained exactly where it was. 

"I was just having a look at all the autographs on the wall," Brian told them, pointing back the way he'd come with his thumb. "The signed photographs, I mean, did you see them?" 

"Yes, I did," Freddie said, one hand reaching over to play with his pack of cigarettes on the table. "There's actually two of Jimi Hendrix." 

Roger was nodding along, only half listening, while his fingers drew circles on Freddie's inner thigh, ever so slowly moving higher. Without being too obvious about it, he was trying to watch for a reaction. To his credit, Freddie was doing a very good job of not letting on.  
Roger began to wonder just how far he could take this little game. In his current slightly inebriated state, he certainly felt reckless enough to find out. 

"Hah, is there? I didn't notice," Brian sipped his drink, looking around. "Imagine he walked in now." 

"Oh, my god," Freddie chuckled behind his hand. "I bloody well hope he doesn't, I would embarrass myself dreadfully." 

Roger's hand inched up a little further. 

"It would make your night though," Brian grinned. 

"It would make my _life_ , darling!" Freddie laughed breathily. 

"Yeah, imagine this night getting any better," Roger said quietly, taking a sip of his drink as his fingers edged ever closer to Freddie's crotch. 

Freddie shifted a little in his seat and cast him a quick but very deliberate glance. 'What are you _doing?_ ', it seemed to say. Roger very subtly winked at him, his own heart racing with excitement. He had no idea what he was doing. This was _insane_ , but fuck, he wasn't about to stop _now_.

"Are you a fan?" John asked, joining Freddie's and Brian's conversation. 

"He's obsessed," Brian teased, and Freddie smacked his arm lightly. 

"I've met him," John informed them.

"Well, _of course_ you have, dear," Freddie's voice was a little uneven, or so Roger thought, not without a hint of satisfaction. "You've met them _all._ " 

His nails were raking over the very top of Freddie's inner thigh while he looked at John with feigned interest.  
Freddie took a long gulp from his glass. 

"Oh, no, I really haven't," John laughed, shaking his head, "There's plenty on my list still." 

"Like who?" 

"Elvis, the Stones..." 

Freddie met Roger's gaze again, just for a moment, his eyes dark and pleading. Except Roger genuinely couldn't tell if he wanted him to stop or keep going, and on second thought, he didn't think Freddie really knew, either. 

"Right, here's a question," Brian held up his index finger. "If you could invite three famous people to a dinner party, who would you invite?" 

"Dead or alive?" Tim asked. 

"Dead or alive, all of history." 

"Oof..." Don contemplated. 

Roger had stopped listening entirely. Very slowly, he tilted his hand up and ran his knuckles over Freddie's crotch.  
A desperate hand seized his wrist under the table, holding on to him tightly, but interestingly enough, not pulling him away. 

Freddie was staring up at the ceiling, his chin in his other hand and his fingers over his lips. By all appearances, he was mulling over the question Brian had asked. Only Roger knew that probably wasn't the case.  
It was difficult to tell what exactly he was touching, of course, given the trousers, and the zip, and the awkward position of his hand and - _oh_. 

Oh Jesus fuck, _hello._

Maybe it wasn't so difficult after all. Because _that_ was definitely Freddie's dick, the outline of it very pronounced against the confinement of his tight trousers. 

'Okay,' Roger thought, almost gleefully, 'that's another first out of the way then.' 

He ran his knuckles up and down the length of it a few times, then applied a bit of pressure toward the tip, eliciting an involuntary twitch in response. Freddie's fingers dug harder into his wrist and he made a strangled little noise that Roger only caught as he was sitting so close to him. 

_Lord almighty-_

His heart was pounding in his throat and he felt giddy with the sheer thrill of the situation and yet somehow in complete disbelief that he was actually doing this. Freddie wasn't even touching him, but here he was, just as aroused beside him. Stroking his dick. _Fucking hell._

Tim was answering Brian's question and everyone had turned to look at him. Seizing the opportunity, Roger quickly leaned in close to Freddie's ear.

" _I want you_." 

He hadn't meant for it to come out so desperate, or really planned to say it at all, but the effect it had was marvellous to behold. Freddie visibly shivered, lips parted and eyes falling shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, he proceeded to give Roger a look that made his very soul ache with desire. 

"Freddie?" 

The dark-haired man jumped at the mention of his name, head snapping in Brian's direction. 

"What- What's that, dear?" 

He released Roger's wrist and gave his hand a squeeze, moving it off of himself in the process before he let go. Roger almost pouted. 

"What about you?" 

Freddie blinked and stared at the others for a few seconds, then quickly answered: "John Lennon, Sherlock Holmes and Marie Antoinette."

Roger was impressed. He'd entirely forgotten what the others were even talking about. 

"Marie Antoinette?" Don laughed. 

"Sherlock Holmes is fictional!" Brian complained. 

"So he is, silly me," Freddie flicked his wrist with a roll of his eyes, "Judas, then." 

"Judas?" John raised his eyebrows. 

Freddie waved a dismissive hand. "Don't question it, dear, it's _my_ imaginary dinner party. Anyway," he turned his head pointedly, "Roger?" 

"Uhm..." 

Roger blinked like a deer in headlights, his head remarkably empty. 

"Did you fall asleep back there?" Tim chuckled. 

"Uhh..." Roger cleared his throat. "Keith Moon, Buddy Holly aaah-nd Brigitte Bardot," he managed with considerable difficulty, and immediately added, trying to sound casual: "You know, speaking of sleep... I think I'm gonna have to call it a night, actually." 

There were outcries of disapproval. 

"No, really," Roger insisted, leaning back in his seat and taking a large gulp of his drink, before he placed the glass down quite decisively. "I'm shattered and I have to catch a train early tomorrow." This was kind of true. The train was leaving at eleven fifteen. "Speaking of which, Freddie's coming with me to Truro, so..." 

"Right, yes." Freddie piped up, nodding very enthusiastically in agreement. "I really ought to go as well. Goodness, I still haven't packed!" 

"Aw, bank holiday weekend in Cornwall," Tim pulled a sad face, "Where's _our_ invitation?" 

Roger laughed. 

"My mum doesn't exactly run a hostel, mate. And anyway, you and Brian have already been," he put his hand on Fred's shoulder. "It'll be Freddie's first time." 

There was a brief pause.  
Freddie looked at Roger.  
Roger looked at Freddie. 

"...In Cornwall," Roger added, unnecessarily, desperately trying not to snicker as he turned back to the others. 

"You've never been to Cornwall?" Don asked. 

"No, never." 

"Oh, it's gorgeous, you'll love it," Brian told him. 

"Yeah, I reckon you'll love it so much you'll come again and again," Roger said innocently, entirely unable to help himself, and yelped when Freddie gave him a surprisingly well-aimed kick in the ankle.

"I'm so sorry, dear, was that your foot," Freddie said dryly, knocking back the rest of his drink. 

Brian gave them a curious glance. 

"Anyway!" Roger held up his glass. "To Smile!" 

Everyone joined in with the toast, and it wasn't until at least half an hour and another round of drinks later that they finally started saying their proper goodbyes. 

\- - - 

The night air was sobering. Roger shivered and put his hands in his pockets, falling into step with Freddie as they started back down the road toward Oxford Circus.  
Freddie checked his watch. 

"We missed the last train." 

"Yeah," Roger automatically did the same. "Night bus it is." 

A long silence followed, both of them lost in their own thoughts as they walked down the street side by side. Roger could have sworn that an hour ago, he had been ready to drag Freddie into the nearest alleyway just as soon as they had left the others behind and kiss him like his very life depended on it even at the risk of being seen. But for some reason all of that bravado seemed to have gone out the window. 

"Dearie me," Freddie said with a small smile, lighting a cigarette as they came up to the bus stop. "What a night."

"Yeah," Roger pulled out one of his own, very aware of Freddie's soft, brown eyes, watching him intently. 

"So, um. Are we going to mine or...?" he heard himself say, wondering why his voice sounded so timid. Why was he so fucking _nervous_ all of a sudden? 

Freddie blinked, suddenly uncertain. "Am I not...?" 

"No, no, I mean-" 

"I thought- because you wanted me to leave with you-" 

They spoke over each other. 

"Yes, that was-" 

"... that was the idea." 

"It was," Roger nodded, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

"Okay, good." Freddie glanced over at the handful of people in the bus shelter and lowered his voice. "Because if you've changed your mind _now_ I'm going to bloody well thump you, darling." His voice was playful, but Roger thought the threat was probably real. "After what you- I mean, what were you _thinking_?" 

Roger snorted with laughter. "I wasn't."

" _Clearly._ "

"You _let_ me," Roger pointed out with a smirk. 

Freddie shook his head, biting his thumb nail with a smile. "I fucking shouldn't have." 

They stood and smoked their cigarettes in silence for a moment, watching a few black cabs go by and listening to the faint sound of police sirens and the constant low background rumble of the inner city. 

"It was fun though," Roger said carefully, not entirely sure that Freddie wasn't going to thump him, after all. 

Freddie glanced at him, a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes, and all Roger wanted to do was pull him close and kiss him, but he couldn't because there were people not even five feet away at the bus stop. He couldn't even reach out and take his hand. It was the _worst_ , and for a moment he wondered if this was what life was like all the time for blokes who really were, well.... _gay_. Because this was fucking terrible and he hated it. 

The night bus pulled up only a few minutes later. It was a short bus journey from Oxford Circus to Shepherd's Bush at night, without the usual high street traffic. They found two seats on the top deck and the moment Roger sat down, he realised just how tired he actually was. Of course, the alcohol wasn't helping. Nor was being rocked side to side on the bus. It was actually making him feel a bit nauseous, too. But it didn't matter, because there was no way he was falling asleep. No way.

Not tonight. Not now...

\- - - 

"Rog. Rog. _Roger_." 

Roger opened his eyes with a start and sat up straight. 

"What...?" he muttered groggily, then immediately realised what had happened, "Fuck, sorry. I fell asleep." 

Freddie looked amused. "Yes, lovie, I noticed. Come on, we have to get off in a minute."

"Right, yeah." 

The walk from the bus stop to his front door wasn't long, but the night suddenly felt so bitterly cold that his teeth were chattering. Freddie leaned against the wall by the door, watching him search his pockets for his keys. 

"At the risk of sounding like your mother," he said softly, "you look really tired, dear." 

"I'm fine," Roger protested, stifling a yawn, and unlocked the door. 

The living room was dark and the flat quiet. Roger snuck through to the kitchen, not bothering to put the light on as the pale glow falling in from the street lamps outside was enough.  
He filled up a glass with water from the tap, handing it to Freddie when the other man came up behind him.

It wasn't until he had done the same for himself and drunk half of it that he realised they were alone. 

_Finally._

Without a word, Roger put down his glass on the counter and slid an arm into Freddie's unbottoned coat and around his waist to pull him close. Putting his own glass aside, Freddie lifted his hands up to Roger's face and brought their foreheads together with a contented sigh. 

"This is all I've wanted to do, all night," he murmured quietly, the tips of their noses brushing. 

"Me too," Roger whispered back, and kissed him. Slowly, tenderly and deeply. Even though only a couple of hours ago, back at the club, he had imagined he might well tear Freddie's clothes off given the opportunity, he didn't feel in such a hurry to do that now. This was too good not to savour. He was sure he'd thought about kissing Freddie all week, whenever his mind wandered. And yet, somehow, it was so much better than he remembered. It made his chest ache in a way he couldn't put in words, while simultaneously filling his body with such a yearning that it felt as if no amount of time spent together or touch would ever be enough to satisfy the hunger. And he _couldn't remember_ when he had last felt this way, but he didn't stop to think about that, because it didn't really matter. Did it?  
Anyway, this was all well and good but they were standing right in the middle of the kitchen, and while it was unlikely, it wasn't impossible for one of his flatmates to get up for a glass of water.  
Roger reluctantly broke the kiss, only long enough to get the words out. 

"Let's go to my room?" 

Freddie smiled against his lips and pulled away. "Hold that thought, I'm going to the bathroom." 

"Alright," Roger held on to him until he was out of reach, watching him throw what he could only describe as an _alluring_ glance back over his shoulder before he left the kitchen. Roger chuckled, shaking his head, because it was just so ridiculously over-the-top flirtatious but it was also _working_. 

Then he picked up the two glasses and made his way to his room.  
Putting on the light _now_ just seemed counterproductive, so he didn't. And anyway, the mess in his room was less apparent in the half-light. Roger put the glasses down on the bedside table, kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket aside. Then he flopped down on the bed, which looked ever so inviting after the long day he'd had. And the very, very long week. Roger yawned and gave in to the beckoning comfort, lying back with one hand behind his head and stretching out his legs.  
Fred was taking a while. Of course he was, knowing him he was probably fussing over his hair. Roger smiled fondly, slowly blinking against the mild dizziness in his head. The flipside of the buzz he had felt earlier from the alcohol was catching up with him now. But it was fine, he told himself, he was awake. He was fine. 

However, when his eyes fell shut for just a second too long, they opened again only in the dreamworld of his mind. 

\- - - 

_'Rog.'_

_He was walking through an old house, a familiar place which he was certain he knew, and had visited before, even if only in his dreams._

_'Roger.'_

_But this door was new, he thought, and stopped, laying a hand on the handle. He'd never noticed this door before._

_'Let's go.'_

_Freddie's voice was gentle, the hand that reached out and covered his own was reassuring and warm. There was no fear of the unknown. Only excitement and curiosity, now._

_Let's._

_He pushed the handle down._

Roger woke up. 

The first thing he realised was that he really needed to pee.  
The second was that he was still wearing his clothes.  
And the third was that there was an arm draped around him and a warm, calmly breathing body snuggled up tightly against his back.  
It all began to come back to him then.  
Their last recording session.  
The club. 

Christ, _the club_. 

The night bus. And... 

Oh, fuck, no. No way. No _fucking_ way. Roger glanced up at his bedside table, squinting to make out the time on the clock. About five in the morning. 

Jesus bloody Christ. He wasn't sure whether to laugh at himself or sob with frustration, feeling utterly mortified, but settled for neither because he also didn't want to wake up Freddie. Very slowly and carefully, Roger moved the other man's arm off him and climbed out of bed, tiptoeing out of his room to go to the toilet. Shaking his head and mentally cursing himself the entire way.  
When he returned he quietly peeled off his trousers and socks, took off his shirt and found a loose t-shirt to throw on. Then he climbed back into bed very carefully, but given that it was a single bed, it was practically impossible to share it with someone else without lying in each other's arms. This wasn't usually an issue because _usually_ he'd actually _had sex_ with anyone who ended up sharing his bed, Roger thought, still in complete and utter disbelief that he'd managed to ruin that so spectacularly. Trying to lie back down without falling off of the edge of the bed, Roger accidentally elbowed Freddie in the chest. 

"Shit, sorry," he whispered when the dark-haired man stirred beside him. "Sorry." 

Freddie lifted his head slightly, bleary eyes looking up at him from beneath dark lashes. 

"'S fine," he murmured, and proceeded to envelop Roger in a warm, sleepy embrace - arms, legs and all - producing a contended low hum which was very nearly a purr. 

Well then, Roger thought, both amused and admittedly quite delighted with the affection, at least Fred wasn't mad at him. He wrapped his arms around him in return, settling in comfortably, and closed his eyes. 

"What time's the train," Freddie suddenly asked, or rather mumbled against the side of his face. 

"Eleven fifteen from Paddington," Roger replied quietly. 

"Mmkay. I have to go home and get my things." 

"It's five in the morning."

Freddie relaxed again and yawned. "Lovely." 

Roger opened his eyes and glanced sideways at him, biting his lower lip. 

"Fred," he said quietly, tapping his finger on Freddie's back where his hand was resting. "Freddie." 

"What, dearie?" 

"I'm sorry." 

Freddie frowned, although he didn't bother opening his eyes. "What? Why? Am I uninvited?" 

"What? No, of course not. I mean last night," Roger sighed. "I'm sorry I just... passed out." 

Freddie gave an amused little snort. "It's alright. T'was pretty funny." 

"Should've woken me up." 

"Oh, don't be so daft," Freddie lifted his hand to Roger's shoulder and weakly pretended to shake him. "Rogahh... wake up," he whisper-yelled, "we have to fuck _right this minute_ , come on, man, it's life or death!" 

Roger burst out laughing, and so did Freddie. It took them a good few minutes to calm down as they kept setting each other off.  
Freddie eventually put an end to the giggling, which was threatening to become hysterical, when he craned his neck and pressed a kiss to Roger's lips. They kissed lazily for a little while, Freddie's hand on Roger's face, caressing his brow and his cheek. The younger man pulled him closer, slipping one hand underneath the t-shirt Freddie was wearing, which Roger was pretty sure was actually _his_. Freddie sighed against his lips as Roger's fingers trailed up his back. 

"Just wanted to make sure you knew," Roger told him, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, "that it wasn't cause I didn't want to."

"I know," Freddie's hand slid down to his chest, resting over his heart. 

"Because I do," They shared a brief kiss. "I _really_ want to." 

Freddie chuckled, and stifled a yawn. "I'm very happy to hear it, dear. But could we get a couple more hours of sleep first?" 

"Yeah," Roger smiled a small, lop-sided smile and kissed the tip of Freddie's nose. "Let's do that." 

"Lovely," Freddie sighed and settled back down into the crook of his neck. 

Outside, dawn was just breaking. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are welcome for all the fluff! And just in case you haven't listened to the playlist yet, do it and let me know what you think of it, cause honestly I'm in love with it.
> 
> I leave you with all the ways in which I misspell Roger on a regular basis because they amuse me greatly: Roher, Riger, Tiger (rawr), Roget, Poger. 
> 
> Please comment! I feckin LOVE it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days. Two days since last chapter, that is how keen I was to write this one.
> 
> The Pink Floyd album mentioned in this chapter is 'A Saucerful of Secrets'.
> 
> Enjoy.

\- - - 

Even before he opened his eyes, Freddie became aware of the bright morning light filling the room. But he felt cozy, oh so warm and cozy, and he did not want to move or wake up. Then he slowly remembered where he was, and that the hair tickling his face wasn't his own. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he wiggled his fingers experimentally and discovered they were resting on top of Roger's stomach. His thigh lay across Roger's lower body and the younger man's arm was wrapped around him, a hand resting against the small of his back. 

It was probably late. 

Checking the time might be a good idea. 

Freddie made no attempt to move. 

He couldn't remember when he had last felt so thoroughly, deeply at peace with the world.  
For a long while, he lay very still and drank in the moment, listening to Roger's slow breathing and surrounded by his scent. Replaying memories of last night in his mind. Of course he had briefly felt disappointed, even a little insulted, that after all that, the night had ended on such an anticlimactic note. He remembered closing the door noisily in a huff, thinking it might wake Roger up, but the fair-haired boy was truly out for the count. And that was what he looked like, Freddie had thought, his annoyance fading as he approached the bed and crouched down, taking in the sight of him. A _boy_ with an angelic face, long lashes and cherub lips, so impossibly _perfect_ that all Freddie wanted to do was draw him lying there. How could he be mad at _this_? 

Freddie was torn from his reverie when Roger took a deep breath and shifted a little, moving his head in his direction.   
Blinking his eyes open, Freddie raised his gaze up to the other man. 

"Morning," Roger croaked, and cleared his throat, gazing at him through his lashes with the hint of a smile on his face. 

"Good morning..." Freddie sighed, lifting a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

They both lazily stretched their limbs, somehow entangling themselves more in each other in the process. It was quite a different thing, lying all but on top of each other only in a t-shirt and underwear rather than fully dressed. Freddie hadn't thought about that so much last night when he had climbed into bed with Roger. He'd been too thrown by the unfortunate situation and, frankly, also pretty tired.   
However, now was a different story. They were both awake, for one. And then there was the fact that something was currently prodding him in the thigh, which was somehow both amusing and kind of hot. A usual morning occurance, he of course knew, and little to do with him. But it was still _very_ tempting. 

Freddie moved his leg up and down slightly, creating a bit of friction, and pressed a few soft kisses to the younger man's neck. Roger responded with a low hum and slid his hand further down, giving Freddie's arse a squeeze through his briefs.

"Well," Roger turned his head as Freddie pulled back, taking in the mischievous little smile on his lips. "It really _is_ a good morning."

Freddie's smile widened as he tilted his head up and went in for a kiss. All lips, at first, gentle and sweet, until his tongue gained entrance and Roger quietly moaned in response, kissing him back with newfound urgency. Freddie broke the kiss, lapping at his lips playfully. Teasing him. Roger's hand slipped under his shirt, fingernails raking over his back. 

"Just so you know," Freddie purred against Roger's lips, and oh well, it would appear he was now leisurely but quite deliberately grinding himself against the other man's hip. "I'm _really_ looking forward to this trip..."

"Yeah..." Roger sighed, somewhat miserably, turning his head toward the ceiling. "About that... my old room doesn't have a lock," he glanced at Freddie and made a face, his expression apologetic, "And we'll be right between my parents' bedroom and my sister's room." 

At that, Freddie stopped everything and lifted his head up properly, staring at him. 

"Sorry..." Roger said meekly. 

"Fuck," Freddie groaned and collapsed on top of Roger, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Are you kidding me? What are we going to _do?_ " 

Roger laughed, probably at the sheer level of desperation in his voice. It was genuine. Freddie honestly didn't think he could take much more of this. God, he was horny.   
"What time is it anyway?" he mumbled into Roger's neck. 

"Half past nine." 

"Roger!" Freddie lifted his head again, eyes wide, and tried to throw back the duvet. The younger man prevented him, catching his wrist in his hand and wrapping his other arm around his waist tightly. 

"Nooo, no, no, no, no..." he protested with a smile and rolled Freddie over, trapping him at the edge of the bed, against the wall. 

"We'll miss the train," Freddie told him, smiling back with his eyebrows raised and, despite his words, showing no resistance whatsoever. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Roger's shoulders and his legs around his hips, drawing his body in close. The thin cotton of their underwear really wasn't much of a barrier. Roger gave a low moan, bucking his hips against Freddie's crotch. 

"No, we won't," he said quietly, carelessly, and gasped when Freddie thrust his hips up against him in return. 

"Yes, we will," Freddie breathed, but kissed him all the same, plunging his tongue deep into his mouth. They broke apart after a few moments, breathing heavily. "I have to go home... shower... pack..." 

Quite frankly, Freddie wasn't sure anymore if he was trying to convince Roger or himself. 

"You don't have to shower," Roger dipped down and licked his ear, catching his earlobe between his teeth. 

Freddie closed his eyes and whimpered. "I really do." 

"No, you really don't," Roger whispered in his ear, their hips steadily moving against each other now, eliciting little noises of pleasure from Freddie. "Mmmh," Roger licked and kissed his way down his neck. "You smell like roses, I promise." 

He buried his nose between Freddie's neck and hair and breathed in deeply, followed by a low growl. Freddie laughed, swatting him away playfully. His breath tickled. 

"Stop that. _Stop._ " 

"And you don't have to pack," Roger continued, lavishing his neck with gentle bites and kisses. "you can just wear my clothes." 

"I'm not wearing your clothes," Freddie replied breathily, even though he absolutely no longer gave a single damn whether they were going to make the train or not or if he had to go to the station naked. He was so turned on it _hurt_ and thinking was quickly becoming an impossible task. 

Roger lay off his neck for a moment. 

"You're literally wearing my shirt, right now," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, and Freddie looked up at him, eyes dark and gleaming with desire. 

"Do you want me to take it _off?_ " he asked, suggestively. 

Roger made a low, throaty noise in return, biting his lip. 

" _Yes._ "

Freddie placed his hands on the other man's shoulders and pushed him off himself, rolling him back over and onto his back. Then he swung his leg across and straddled him, sitting up and stripping the shirt off in one quick motion. Roger swallowed heavily, watching him with half-hooded eyes, that gaze, so particular to him, which made Freddie's insides ache with need. Pushing himself up off the bed for a moment, Roger made short work of his own t-shirt, tossing it to the floor where Freddie's had landed, and lay back down. Their eyes roamed each other's bodies with a sort of hungry fascination, before meeting again, and suddenly neither of them had much to say anymore. Roger's hands travelled up the outside of Freddie's thighs, fingers digging into his hips, which were moving in slow circles. Freddie was relishing the sensation of what he was rubbing up against, knowing that _now_ it had everything to do with him. So hard, just for him, and begging for attention, from him. He ran his fingers over the soft, pale skin of the other man's torso, somehow still not quite believing that he was _allowed_ this. One of Roger's hands reached for his face, his cheek, and he lowered himself down to meet his lips. They both shivered at the incredible feeling of skin on skin, quietly moaning into each other's mouths. And suddenly Freddie was very glad that this hadn't happened last night, because now he was completely sober with nothing to dull his senses, acutely aware of every little moment. The way Roger's fingers lost themselves in his hair, the way the younger man shuddered beneath his touch when he ran his fingers down his side. It was overwhelming and so intense, a different kind of intoxication. Far better than any other kind of high.   
His mouth found Roger's jawline and the side of his neck, and the hand in his hair tightened when he sucked hard on a sensitive patch of skin. Freddie decided that he had a debt to repay here, and his teeth joined in with the effort. Judging by the rather wonderful noises Roger was making, he enjoyed a bit of pain, too. 

Suddenly the muffled sound of voices from the living room startled them both. Shit, Freddie thought, he had all but forgotten about Roger's flatmates. Were they being too loud? Was the door locked? Roger seemed to have had the same moment of realisation. 

"Wait," he said quietly, catching Freddie's eye as he gently pushed him off and rose from the bed. He drew the curtains on his was to the door, listened for a moment, and turned the key. Then he walked over to the record player. 

'Good call,' Freddie thought, watching him from the bed, propped up on one elbow. His mind was catching up with the situation, trying to wrap itself around the idea that this was really happening.   
Roger held up a Pink Floyd album and glanced back over his shoulder. Freddie okayed it with a brief nod, wondering if that was his go-to album for these occasions and immediately deciding that he didn't really want to know.

_These occasions._

Turning back around, Roger slowly made his way over to the bed with a look in his eyes that could be best described as _predatory_. 

Freddie felt faint.

Roger put his knee on the foot of the bed and crawled up toward him, placing one arm on either side of him as Freddie slowly dropped back onto the pillow, holding his gaze. The fair-haired man lowered himself down half on top of him, his thigh between his legs, and bent down for a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth almost clashing.   
His fingers splayed out on Freddie's chest, nails grazing his skin lightly, sending shivers through his entire body. Then he slowly abandoned his lips, kissing a trail down his neck and along his collarbone while his hand slid over Freddie's stomach and down, down, down...   
Freddie threw his head back, eyes falling shut, his heart hammering in his throat in time with the baseline of the music.   
Roger flicked his tongue over a nipple and bit down on it gently, palming Freddie's dick through his underwear. Freddie moaned, moving his hips up to meet his hand. Roger moved across his chest to the other nipple and gave it a lick, looking up for a moment. 

"Do you like this?" 

Freddie nodded eagerly, entirely unable to form the words, and gasped when Roger caught his nipple between his teeth. He alternated between biting and licking, all the while stroking him through his briefs and oh god, Freddie was going to die. 

It was fine. He was fine with that. He was going to die a happy man. 

When Roger's lips eventually returned to the side of his neck Freddie turned his head, threading his fingers through blond hair and all but yanking him up into a kiss. He rolled onto his side, his hand descending from Roger's hair, down along his back and under the waistband of his briefs. His nails raked over Roger's arse, eliciting a shudder. Breaking the kiss, Roger met his eyes and pulled away. He rolled onto his back and lifted his hips up to pull down his underwear, hastily kicking it off toward the end of the bed. Then he rolled back onto his side, head propped up on his hand, and raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

'Fair enough,' Freddie thought, breaking into a grin, 'You show me yours, I'll show you mine.' He hooked his thumbs into his briefs and pulled them down as well, carelessly tossing them across the room. Roger chuckled softly, reaching out to stroke the side of his face, a sudden gentleness and affection arising between them again. Freddie reached up to take his hand, intertwining their fingers, and brought it to his lips. They lay side by side for a moment, holding hands and looking each other up and down with a mixture curiosity and desire. Roger sighed and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head slightly. 

"What?" Freddie asked, watching him intently. 

"I'm sorry if I'm shit at this," he said quietly, meeting his eyes again with an uncertain smile on his face. 

Freddie gaped at him in sheer disbelief, before he leaned in to kiss him, wrapping one arm around him and pressing their bodies into each other as a result. Their lips separated and Freddie exhaled a shuddering breath, leaning his forehead against Roger's. 

"You're not," he murmured against his lips, "trust me."

Embracing naked felt so intimate, so wonderful. The sensation overwhelmed him and left him feeling weak.   
Their lips met again and this time Freddie found himself on top as Roger rolled onto his back, pulling him close. Their hands went on an exploration of each other's bodies, fingers tracing every curve, nook and niche, caressing but not lingering. Discovering which spots made the other shudder with delight.   
Their kisses grew breathless, thighs between each other's legs, hips grinding against each other with increasing urgency. Until Freddie pulled back and caught Roger's eye. He lifted one hand and slowly licked his palm. Roger bit down on his lower lip with a guttural moan, watching as Freddie reached down between their bodies and wrapped his hand around him. His head rolled back, exposing his neck, and Freddie gladly took the opportunity to bite and lick his way up from his shoulder to his ear while his fingers moved up and down. Leisurely, at first, but soon meeting the rhythm of Roger's hips as he thrust up into his hand, his breathing ragged. His hands blindly reached for him and found purchase on his shoulders and the back of his neck, clinging on desperately. Freddie smiled against his ear, so impossibly turned on, knowing _he_ was the one reducing him to such a state.   
Just when the rhythm became frantic, Freddie stopped and simply held on tightly, his thumb spreading precum over the head in circles while he thrust against the top of Roger's thigh, unable to stop himself even if he'd wanted to. 

"Ahh, fuck, please," Roger moaned breathlessly, sending a shiver right through him. " _Please_..."

Freddie continued, impossibly slowly and lightly, concentrating his efforts on the head. Enough to please but not enough by far to satisfy. Nails dug into his shoulder, broken whimpers escaping Roger's lips, so delightful and wanton that Freddie couldn't help but moan in return, except it came out almost a growl. His hand tightened and Roger threw his head to one side, gasping for breath. 

"Oh- oh _Jesus_ -" 

Their lips found each other again and Freddie silenced his moans, tossing him off in earnest now, hard and fast. Roger broke the kiss, panting against his lips and trembling all over. 

"Oh my _god_ , oh fuck, oh _fuck_ -" 

He groaned and came in Freddie's hand, fingers digging into his shoulder, and oh shit, Freddie was so close he could barely breathe. And then Roger's hand found his dick, slick with precum, setting a fast pace. Freddie squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head against the side of Roger's neck, biting down on his lips to keep from crying out. 

_Ohgodohshitohfuck-_

A few seconds later, and he was moaning loudly, coming all over Roger's stomach. The world ceased to exist around him. He was flying, free-falling, and it was sheer mind-numbing bliss. 

Roger caught him in his arms. 

Neither of them moved for a good two minutes, aside from their heaving chests. Freddie honestly didn't think he _could_ move. He listened to the needle skip over and over at the end of the A side of the record, not sure how long ago it had finished. 

"I had a dream like this," Roger mumbled quietly. 

Freddie tried to lift his head but only succeeded in turning it a little. "What?" 

"Nothing," the younger man sighed contentedly, "Just thinking out loud." 

"Hmm..." Freddie was curious but couldn't bring himself to make conversation just yet. Instead he nuzzled Roger's cheek and placed a soft kiss there. Roger turned his head and kissed him on the lips, running his fingers up and down his back.   
Then he shifted a little and pulled his hand out from between them, looking at it with a slightly helpless expression. "Um. Fred."

Freddie raised his head up, and proceeded to lift himself off of Roger carefully. His limbs felt like jelly. The fair-haired man propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows. Both of their stomachs were covered in cum, although Roger had definitely got the shorter end of the stick. 

"Jesus, it's getting everywhere," he pointed out, and started snickering, which didn't help with the lying still. 

"Tissues?" Freddie asked. 

"Under the bedside table," Roger looked concerned for a moment, "I hope." 

Freddie climbed over him and found a roll of toilet paper under the bedside table, next to a crumpled up paper bag, an empty cup and a text book. Freddie shook his head at the mess, wondering how Roger even functioned, living like this, and quickly tore off some paper to clean himself up before he handed the toilet roll to his friend. 

"Time?" Roger inquired. 

Freddie glanced at the clock. "Twenty past ten." 

"Okay," Roger finished wiping himself down as best he could and sat up straight, suddenly full of energy. 

"Okay what?" Freddie asked, looking around to see where his underwear had landed earlier and almost falling over his own shoe instead.

"We're gonna make the train." 

Freddie stopped and stared at him. " _How_." 

"If we _hurry_ ," Roger said insistently, and jumped up from his bed, making for the wardrobe. Looking through it, he began to toss items of clothing onto the bed. "Listen, you shower first, but don't take ages, alright? Your hair's fine. I'll find us some shirts and trousers and things." 

"Roger- what? No!" Freddie protested, "I have to go home, I'm not wearing your clothes all weekend! I don't even have my toothbrush- and don't even try and tell me I can borrow yours, because I'll hit you with this shoe!" 

Roger grabbed a towel from the top shelf and hurried over to him, pushing it into his hands with a pleading expression on his face. "It's fine, I'll buy you a bloody toothbrush, but Freddie, _please_ , we can't miss the train. I haven't been home in ages and mum's already mad that I didn't come down for Easter, and I promised her we'd be there for dinner. I think she's invited family friends round, too, and they all know I'm coming."

Freddie opened his mouth, but Roger didn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"Please, mate, just help me out. Freddie, _please_ ," he begged and then waggled his eyebrows, reaching around to give Freddie's arse a squeeze, "I'll make it up to you. All night. _Both_ nights."

"What, in that room of yours between your parents' and your sister's bedrooms?" Freddie said doubtfully, raising an eyebrow, although he couldn't help but grin. 

Roger shrugged, leaning in for a kiss, his hand still on Freddie's arse. 

"We'll just have to be very, very quiet," he whispered against his lips, meeting his eyes with a look so charged and heavy that it made Freddie shiver despite himself. 

"Alright, fine," he gave in and licked his lips, not entirely sure how it was possible that he was getting a little turned on again, but it was happening. "But I'm picking out what I wear, you go shower first," he added quietly. 

"Thank you," Roger pecked him on the lips several times over, "thank you, thank you, you're the best." 

"I'm still not sure how we can possibly make it in time," Freddie pointed out. 

"We'll take a taxi." 

"A taxi?!" Freddie stared at him, eyes wide. Neither of them had that kind of money to throw around. The train tickets weren't going to be cheap, either. 

"It's fine, honestly, mum always ends up giving me money," Roger told him and took the towel back, throwing it over his shoulder as he went to dig through a drawer and pulled out a few rolled up pound notes, tossing them onto the bed with the rest of the things he had pulled out from the wardrobe. They both looked at the money for a moment and then back up at each other. Roger snorted and gave him a comically exaggerated wink. 

"For your _services_." 

"Bastard!" Freddie gasped in mock outrage and lunged forward, grabbing him by the arm before he could get away and smacking him across the arse. 

"Ow!" Roger laughed, rubbing his backside, "That bloody hurt!" 

"It fucking well better," Freddie shrugged with a smirk, "I'm worth more than a few measly pounds, darling. Now go shower, or we really are going to miss that bloody train!" 

"Right!" Roger hopped over a pile of books on the floor and leaned in for one more kiss on his way past, wrapping his towel around his hips just before he snuck out of the door. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are then! And it only took 14 chapters, haha!
> 
> I think I'm gonna have to put the rating up to explicit. Sorry (not sorry). 
> 
> Was it all you hoped for? Better leave me a comment and let me know. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truro is a far cry from London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's been a while and there are two reasons for that! 
> 
> One, this chapter was getting very, VERY long and in the end I had to split it in two parts. So technically, this is part one. Plenty will become clear in part two, which I will post in a couple of days.  
> Two, I have a ton of work at the moment and in the next few months, so I just won't be able to update as frequently.
> 
> I also wanted to say, thank you SO SO much for all your comments and kudos! I am over the moon that you are enjoying this story so much and it motivates me like you wouldn't believe. Thank you! <3

\- - - 

The scent of freshly toasted bread filled the kitchen, bright sunshine fell in through the curtains and birds sang in the trees, just outside the opened window. It was an glorious Sunday morning, but one would never have guessed it by the looks of the family gathered around the breakfast table.  
Fifteen-year-old Clare, chatty and giggly the night before, every bit as outgoing as her brother, sat slouched in her chair, listlessly picking at her scrambled eggs. She looked younger this morning, childlike and small.  
Beside her, Roger fidgeted and huffed over his steaming cup of tea, equally lacking in appetite, his jaw tense and brows furrowed.  
Meanwhile, their mother busied herself around the kitchen, finding a myriad of excuses that prevented her from sitting down at the table. There was a fragility about her, an unsteadiness in her hands that periodically drew Roger's concerned gaze, as though he worried she might accidentally drop something.  
All of them very deliberately avoided so much as glancing in the direction of the empty chair at the head of the table and nobody had spoken since they had sat down. The silence felt heavy and brittle, almost as if something might shatter if it was broken. 

Freddie was afraid to so much as stir his tea too loudly for fear of disturbing it. He was familiar with these kinds of silences.  
His family were very good at them, too. 

\- - - 

"I say, Frederick, old sport, pass the red sauce," Roger said loudly in his very best posh accent, determined to keep a straight face. 

"With pleasure, my dear chap," Freddie pulled his lips over his teeth as he stuggled to hold back laughter while he passed him the ketchup. 

Some of the diners around them were staring disapprovingly, and had been, on and off, since they had started mucking about. Of course, this only made it more hysterical. 

"How's the beef, Reginald?" Freddie asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Roger raised his hand to his mouth, covering a silent snicker. 

_Reginald._

Fucking brilliant.

"Oh, splendid, simply splendid," he replied and followed it up with a vastly exaggerated hum of delight as he cut off another piece of steak. "Mh-mh- _mmmh_!" 

For a moment he thought Freddie might lose it, but he just barely pulled himself back and cleared his throat instead.

"Jolly good," he managed to reply and quickly took a few large gulps of water.

They had made the train with seconds to spare, yelling at each other to run and almost hurtling into a group of French tourists on the way. Unshaven, starving and noisily celebrating that they had, in fact, _made it_ , they'd headed straight for the dining car to appease their grumbling stomachs. Roger didn't even remember what had started this whole thing. Something about the painfully outdated decor in the dining car had probably set them off, coupled with the fact that the median age of the current diners seemed to be about twice their own. But now it was _on_ , and as neither of them wanted to be outdone, it was getting increasingly more ridiculous.

"Here's to a delightful bank holiday weekend, old pal. Chin-chin," Roger raised his pint, nodding his head cordially, and Freddie followed suit with his water. 

"Chin-chin!" They clinked glasses and Freddie looked out of the window, at fields of grass and farm land, and trees whizzing by. "Weather's turning out marvelous."

It really was, as a matter of fact. Roger finished chewing a bite and took another sip of lager, smacking his lips.

"I must say," And what he was going to say was also true, despite the manner in which he was saying it being all in jest. "I'm already having a gay old time on this trip. How about you, Frederick?" 

It wasn't until the words had left his mouth that he realised the choice of vocabulary was, perhaps, more than a little on the nose given the morning they'd had. For a brief moment he felt a pang of embarrassment, but then he looked over at Freddie who was now decidedly cracking up.

"The gayest, darling," he all but wheezed, reaching for the water again to try and calm himself down.

Roger breathed a small sigh of relief and broke into a wide grin, promptly doubling down on the innuendo instead: "I don't believe I've ever felt so gay in all my life!"

Freddie accidentally snorted water up his nose, and that was that. They both descended into hysterics, drawing the attention of the entire dining car. The bill was served not much later, and prematurely, a very formal and polite way of asking them to _please_ leave. In an act of defiance, Roger decided to nab the old-fashioned, tacky salt and pepper shakers on his way out. They were shaped like a pair of cats, which had delighted Freddie. 

The train was very crowded, which wasn't surprising given that it was a bank holiday weekend and Cornwall was a popular holiday destination. They made their way down through the carriages, glancing into the six-seater compartments in hopes of finding one that wasn't full or very nearly so. It proved impossible, and in the end they stopped in the corridor of the last carriage for a moment before tracking back to squeeze in somewhere. Roger slid a window open and propped his arms up on the ledge, narrowing his eyes and gazing into the distance. Enjoying the wind, which blew his hair every which way, and the scents of _nature_ which felt a little like home, in a way, and which were so sorely lacking in London.  
Freddie turned away from the window to light a cigarette and then turned back to him, leaning with his back against the window. Roger casually reached out for his friend's cigarette and Freddie passed it to him, holding his gaze while Roger took a long drag and exhaled it out the window. Freddie's teeth were poking out from below his lip, the hint of a smile on his face, Roger noticed and blinked, realising his eyes had wandered down to the other man's lips and lingered there. He returned the cigarette and turned back to the window, a strange feeling in his chest. That same yearning, from the night before. That never-enough-ness, which he couldn't even begin to satisfy here and now, but much as he knew that, he couldn't just rationalise it away. The overwhelming urge to reach for Freddie's hand, touch his hair, his cheek. Wrap his arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. This morning felt like a lifetime away.  
Freddie had turned around to look out of the window as well, so close to him their arms were almost touching.  
Almost. 

"Horses," Freddie suddenly gasped softly, "Look." 

Roger squinted into the distance, where his vision blurred into vague impressionistic blotches. He could just about make them out. About half a dozen wild horses, grazing in a field. 

"Yeah, they're wild," he said absently, leaning away from the window a little to tame his hair, half of which had blown into his eyes. "There's plenty of them around here."

"Oh, really?" Freddie exhaled cigarette smoke out of the window, craning his neck and watching the small herd disappear in the distance. 

"You've not been outside of London much, have you." 

"No." 

"You ever been on a horse?" Roger asked, reaching over to steal another puff from Freddie's cigarette. 

Freddie shook his head, then smiled, remembering. "I've ridden on an elephant though. Once or twice."

The train was slowing down a little. Fields of grass had been replaced by wheat and barley, with the odd farm house nestled in a grove of trees. 

"Do you ever miss it?" Roger asked, catching Freddie's eye as he gave him back his cigarette. 

"Miss what, dear? Riding elephants?" Freddie chuckled. 

"No, you plonker," Roger rolled his eyes with a smile, "I mean, do you miss where you're from?" 

"You're making it sound like I'm from outer space," Freddie noted with a snort. 

"Bombay," Roger said, "India." 

"No," Freddie replied, quite firmly and flicked his cigarette out of the window. "Don't miss it, no. That's not really where I'm from, for one."

"Right." Roger turned around, leaning his back against the window instead and propping his hands up on the thin window ledge. It was so rare for Freddie to go into any sort of detail about his upbringing that Roger felt awkward asking about it, and at the same time worried he might have confused or forgotten something he had already been told. It was all small tidbits of information whenever Freddie decided to volunteer them, here and there, and Roger was still connecting the dots in his mind. He wanted to ask about Zanzibar, but didn't, because he couldn't point to it on a map. As if Freddie might whip one out and ask him to do so, Roger thought, as amused at himself as he was embarrassed by his lack of geographical knowledge. 

"I don't really feel like I'm from anywhere, if I'm honest," Freddie was ruminating, while playing with the window latch. "I didn't belong where I was born, I didn't think I belonged where I grew up and I'm constantly reminded that I don't really belong here, either." 

'I'm sorry,' Roger wanted to say, even though it didn't feel quite like the right sentiment, but Freddie continued before he could. 

"Where's home for you?" 

That was a good question. Roger hadn't ever thought about it much. Not really.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I feel at home when I'm in London and I feel at home when I go back to Truro... anywhere, I guess. Wherever I am. I don't think it's a place." 

Freddie seemed to mull it over, chewing on his bottom lip. 

"Home is where the heart is," he finally said, lifting his eyes. 

"Yeah," Roger agreed as he met his gaze, and he didn't know why his heart lurched the way it did. There was a myriad of thoughts in his mind, and words on the tip of his tongue, but they were all as hazy and unfocused as the distant landscape. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Freddie was watching him curiously. 

'Damned if I know,' Roger thought, lowering his eyes. But amidst the confusing mess in his mind was one thing he knew with clarity, and the moment was just quiet enough, just sincere enough, for him to say it without feeling like a sentimental sap.

"You really are my best friend, you know." 

\- - - 

Freddie had finished his scrambled eggs on toast with an irrational sense of guilt over being the only one who appeared to be hungry. It wasn't his fault, of course, in fact he was very aware that none of this was any of his business at all. He felt like an intruder, invading their privacy, quietly wondering if it wouldn't be less rude to just excuse himself and go upstairs.  
Not for the first time, his eyes wandered to the doorway which led to the living room. He could see the corner of the old piano, brown wood breaking up the geometrical pattern of the wallpaper.

"Mrs. Taylor," he finally spoke up, inadvertently drawing everybody's attention, "I'd love to play the piano, if I may?" 

He caught Roger's eye for a moment and almost wished he hadn't. The anger was gone now and in its place was a dejected sort of helplessness. Freddie wasn't used to seeing his cheeky, carefree friend like this and his heart hurt for him.

"But of course, love," Roger's mother answered distractedly, a smile on her lips that didn't reach the eyes as she leaned over to clear his plate. "Go right ahead." 

"Thank you," Freddie smiled back politely as he wiped his hands on his napkin. 

Then he made his way to the living room, sat down at the piano and opened the fallboard. Freddie felt his spirits lift as he placed his fingers on the keys and plunged into a little improvisation in G minor. The piano was a bit out of tune, he thought, cringing at the dissonance in some of the chords. After a little while, he slowed down, gazing up at the crochet piano cover.  
He thought of his own mother.  
He thought of the tunes that made her smile when he played them.  
He thought of one of the first records he had ever bought and the way he had obsessively learned to play every song on it. A compilation album, featuring Elvis, of course, the Everly Brothers, Nat King Cole, Buddy Holly... 

How did that one go again? Freddie frowned a little in concentration, fingers searching for the right chords. 

Oh, there. That was it. 

\- - - 

"You really are my best friend, you know." 

"Likewise, darling," Freddie smiled at Roger, a bittersweet tightness in his chest and his eyes full of contemplation as he turned back to the view outside the window. The train was pulling into a station, and a few passengers were starting to emerge from some of the compartments around them to head for the doors. Freddie and Roger wordlessly nodded to each other and turned to go. Eyes trained on Roger's back, strands of dark blond hair, skinny arms and his duffle bag hung over one shoulder, Freddie followed him back up the corridor to find somewhere to sit. 

_Friends first_. 

It was fast becoming a mantra in his mind, whenever he caught himself longingly gazing at Roger for too long. His long lashes, the uneven fringe hanging into his eyes, his lips, his calloused hands. Gazing not because he wanted to touch, but admiring fondly and longing to _have_ the man in a way he knew he could not. While the morning had been incredible, and still felt surreal, it was the night his thoughts kept returning to now. It was simply being held close, the innocent affection of it, almost as if he was...

Almost as if he was _loved_. 

Freddie hesitated to so much as allow himself to think the word, because it wasn't real. He was, of course, being a fanciful idiot. That word had no place here. He had to remind himself of what this was, or more importantly, what it wasn't.  
This was not the start of something more. All it was, was two friends - perhaps foolishly - giving in to forbidden temptation. He'd been there before, he told himself. Just a bit of fun. It was most likely going to be over as quickly as it had begun. 

_Friends first. Friends first. Friends first._

Lost in thought, Freddie bumped into Roger when the younger man stopped outside a compartment, peering inside. 

"Sorry," Freddie mumbled. 

"No worries," Roger nodded at the door, "Here?" 

"Sure."

It was three and half hours in total to Plymouth, where they caught a connecting train to Truro after an hour's wait. Even though they had brought little in the ways of entertainment, having had to pack in a hurry, the journey didn't drag. Perhaps for the first time in a week, the tantalising tension between them was far less urgent and unbearable, and what was left was a pair of friends who never ran out of things to talk about nor ways to make each other laugh. 

\- - - 

Truro was a far cry from London, and while Roger knew that, of course, it somehow still managed to surprise him. In less than a year, he had grown accustomed to the city of London with its grey facades, its fast pace of life and its constant noise. In comparison, the small town of Truro now felt far more provincial to him than it ever had growing up. Things he had never stopped to notice before caught his attention, like the bunting strung up between the street lights, how colourful the houses were, how many flowers there were on the windowsills and how leisurely people went about their business. 

"Oh, my goodness," Freddie said, not five minutes after they had stepped out of the train station, "It's all so _quaint_." 

"Yeah," Roger agreed with a small smile, "Welcome to Cornwall."

"I _love_ it!" said Freddie, emphatically, and hooked his arm through Roger's, dragging him down the road toward the cathedral which towered grandly over the small houses. "Go on, show me around!" 

After the obligatory look at the cathedral - "You were a choir boy? Well, that makes perfect sense, dear, you still sound like one!" - they took a few small detours on their way to the house, at Freddie's insistence, stopping off at places which held no great importance other than the anecdotes Roger could tell about them. But Freddie seemed to think it was all rather marvellous and listened with great interest. 

"Rog!" Clare shouted excitedly from the upstairs window, where she was perched on the window sill, overlooking the front garden. "You're here!" 

"Hey, Clare!" Roger waved at his little sister with a smile, shielding his eyes from the sun. 

"Mum, they're here!" Clare had turned away and disappeared into her room a moment later, although they could still hear her excited voice through the open window. "Mum, dad! Roger's home!" 

\- - - 

If Freddie had been asked to describe a typical British middle class family, he would have surely described the Taylors. The house was a modest size without feeling cramped. It was beautifully kept, all family pictures and rustic decor, some of it naval themed. Roger's mother was a petite, unassuming woman, polite to a fault. His younger sister, blond and cheerful, was her mother's carbon copy in looks and shared Roger's bubbly, slightly chaotic energy. Freddie discovered that Roger's eyes were his father's. A ruddy-faced man of few words, it seemed, who retreated to the living room armchair to smoke his pipe shortly after greeting them. 

They had arrived just in time for tea, and shortly after so did the handful of family friends Roger had been talking about. A next door neighbour with her husband, Lorie and Bill, and an older lady called Ruth - Auntie Ruthie, to both Clare and Roger - who, it turned out, had minded the Taylor children occassionally when they were younger. It was a merry get-together, and while Freddie answered a host of questions directed his way, Roger was barely given a chance to eat, what with everyone wanting to know all about his life in London and the exciting news about Smile's record deal. Many a story made the rounds about his early musical ambitions, in hindsight a clear indication, everyone agreed, that he was going to go far. Clare was by far the most excited, making him promise he would introduce her to the Beatles as soon as he met them.

"Actually, I've been thinking," Roger announced as everyone was finishing their dessert, perhaps emboldened by the praise and confidence invested in him tonight, "I've decided I'm not going to carry on with college."

The only person in the room who wasn't surprised, was Freddie, because Roger had been talking about quitting dental college altogether for as long as he'd known him. To everyone else, however, this was news. The way Roger turned his attention to his plate in the moment of silence that followed seemed to indicate that he had blurted it out rather impulsively, and immediately regretted doing so. Freddie's eyes wandered from him over to Clare, who was watching her parents exchange a look. 

"Now, hold on just a minute," his father spoke up. While everyone else had been chatting away, he had been fairly quiet, until now. "You've _decided_ , have you?" 

"Yes, I have," Roger shrugged, and looked up, obviously having come to the conclusion that there was nothing for it now but to defend his position. "It's not what I want to do, and I don't see the point when I've got this great opportunity. I want to focus on the band and give it my all, you know."

"Let's talk about it later, shall we?" his mother waved a dismissive hand with a nervous smile, glancing at the guests. "Now, Lorie, won't you tell us-" 

"If you think you've got it made," Roger's father cut her off, leaning onto the table, "then you've got another thing coming. For god's sake, son, don't be a fool."

"Dad, we have a record deal," the young drummer retorted defiantly, "We're going places."

That tone did not sit well with his father, who was now staring him down sternly. The tension that had arisen was palpable. Dessert spoons were lowered and eyes politely averted.

"Straight to the poorhouse is where you'll be going, if you really believe that! But I suppose that's just as well! You'll fit right in, the way you walk around these days." 

Roger snorted and looked away, running a self-conscious hand through his hair despite himself. 

"Mike," Roger's mother tried in a gentle voice, looking at her husband insistently. 

"No, Winnie, I'm _talking_ ," he snapped at her, "He looks like a tramp, someone should bloody well tell him but instead you're all too busy blowing smoke up his-"

"That's enough of that, don't you think?" Ruth suddenly piped up, firmly yet politely weighing in with all her grandmotherly authority. Without waiting for a response, she quickly added: "Winnie, love, shall I help you clear the plates?"

Roger's mother seemed deeply grateful for the intervention. "Oh, thank you, Ruth, but it's no trouble."

"No, I insist..."

"I'll help, too, Auntie Ruthie," Clare jumped up from her chair and joined the two women in clearing the table.

Roger was frowning at the empty spot where his plate had been, his jaw tense, while Michael Taylor glanced around the room darkly, without looking at anyone in particular. "I don't know why I bother," he grumbled and rose from the table. "No one in this house ever listens to me anyway." 

With that he gave his son a final look of disapproval and left the table, making his way to a cabinet in the corner. The liquor cabinet, Freddie realised, watching him pour himself a tumbler of whiskey. Freddie turned to Roger, who rolled his eyes dismissively, as if to say 'parents, you know'.  
Freddie most certainly did know.

"Well then," Lorie was saying to her husband, "It's getting late, dear, we had better be going..." 

The neighbours left, and eventually, so did Ruth. Freddie sat in the kitchen with Roger and Clare, chatting while Mrs. Taylor tidied the kitchen. Roger's father had settled down in front of the television in the living room with his whiskey and pipe, ignoring them as much as the Taylor children were now ignoring him, and everyone seemed fine with that arrangement.  
Soon the mood was jovial again, the earlier incident water under the bridge, or so it seemed. Except Freddie caught Roger casting a wary glance in the direction of the living room once or twice, but he wasn't going to start analysing the dynamics of a family he barely knew. 

"Let's play Scrabble!" Clare clapped excitedly when their mother had finished with the dishes, "Oh, please, let's!"

"Sure, why not," Roger agreed, much to his sister's delight, and turned to him. "You ever played Scrabble before, Fred?"

Freddie shook his head. His own family wasn't the board game playing kind, but he was intrigued.

"It's good fun," Roger told him, while Clare was already off to the other room to fetch the game. "But watch out," he added with a smug grin, "I always win."

"He really does, it's very annoying!" Having returned with the box, Clare stuck her tongue out at Roger in jest and he reached over to tickle her in return, making her giggle.

"Are you playing, mummy?" Clare wanted to know.

Winifred Taylor sighed, looking from one of her children to the other, then at Freddie wish an expression that seemed to say: 'Well, look at them, do I have a choice?' Freddie chuckled.

"Go on, mum!" said Roger.

"Oh, alright," she agreed, and sat down at the kitchen table with them.

As Clare set up the board and began explaining the game to Freddie, his attention briefly wandered when he glanced at Roger. His friend was peering over his shoulder, into the dim living room, the dark expression on his face one of trepidation. However, as soon as he caught Freddie looking it was gone, replaced by a warm smile.

"Ready to lose, Clare bear?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at Clare as he stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth. 

"Pride comes before the fall," Clare retorted sagely, and then shot Freddie a cheeky look, "My money's on Freddie tonight." 

"Dearie me! No pressure then," Freddie laughed, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation, focusing on the game.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, what's going on? What happened Saturday night? Hmm! Questions, questions.
> 
> All will become clear, but feel free to speculate!
> 
> Comments, as always, not just appreciated but LOVED.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All families have secrets. All families fight. Roger knows that. Everyone knows that. And sometimes, accidents happen. OR: Freddie is a very sweet boyfriend, err, I mean, friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - If you are affected by the topic of domestic violence, proceed with caution.
> 
> This chapter is a roller-coaster ride and a half, not gonna lie. Strap in tight. 
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- Roger Taylor wrote a song ("Surrender") about domestic violence and spoke out in vague terms about having experienced it  
> \- Winifred and Michael Taylor got divorced
> 
> Those are the only facts here, all else is just my imagination. That's important to remember.
> 
> Here is an excerpt from the lyrics to "Surrender", and funnily enough I wrote most of this before even reading the lyrics. Go figure.  
> "No hope left, just pain  
> Whiskey on his breath, violence in his brain  
> Scared kids, with scarred minds  
> Surrender reason, love is blind"
> 
> I'd like to thank PeblezQ for always providing me with plenty of interesting information about Queen and, as a result, inspiring a large part of this chapter.
> 
> On a side note, I like my smut very realistic. If you haven't noticed that yet, you definitely will now. Take it or leave it, haha.

\- - -

It turned out Scrabble was a fantastic game. Freddie could certainly see why it was a Taylor family favourite. He got the hang of it very quickly, and soon found that while Roger was very good at it, their linguistic prowess was pretty evenly matched. They played two rounds, and true to form, Roger won both. Freddie was already contemplating a rematch the following night. 

But it was getting very late indeed, at least according to Roger's mother, and so everyone made their way upstairs to turn in for the night.  
Some twenty minutes later, Roger was sitting on his bed in his pyjamas, watching Freddie with a curious expression on his face as he lay out his trousers on the floor. 

"What the hell..." he said slowly, his voice amused, "are you doing?"

Freddie finished brushing the creases out of his trousers - the only article of clothing he had worn today which was actually his, and not Roger's - and looked up with a grin. "Making sure these are presentable tomorrow, dear," he told Roger, and proceeded to carefully place the mattress on top, putting his hands on his hips with a contented sigh once he was done.

Roger snorted with laughter, shaking his head. "You're a nutter, you know that."

"Oh, I know," Freddie waved a playful hand at him, "and tomorrow I'll be a nutter with perfectly pressed trousers."

"Come here," Roger chuckled and reached for his hand, pulling him closer. Freddie stumbled, trying to avoid stepping on his mattress, and fell backwards onto Roger's bed with a little yelp.

Roger shushed him, lowering his own voice as he pointed to the opposite wall and then the one beside his bed. "Sister. Parents."

"I _know_ ," Freddie mouthed, pushing himself up into a sitting position. They sat still for a moment, listening out for any sounds, but the house seemed quiet, except for the muffled droning of the television downstairs. Roger seemed to notice it as well and was momentarily distracted by it, a frown forming on his face. 

"Everything alright?" Freddie asked, pulling his legs up under himself to sit cross-legged on the bed. 

"Yeah," Roger nodded, then met his eyes with a small, apologetic smile on his lips. "I'm sorry about my dad. He's... He can be in a right mood, sometimes."

"Don't worry about it," Freddie whispered back and lay a hand on Roger's knee, pulling his lips over his teeth and quietly contemplating how to best say 'So... wanna kiss?' without sounding like he was fourteen, or desperate, or both. Then he decided it was probably best to forego the words altogether, and leaned in, lightly pressing his lips to Roger's. The younger man froze for a moment and then hesitantly returned the kiss. Freddie pulled back, searching his face.

"Your parents' house...?" he ventured. 

"It's my parents' house," Roger immediately confirmed with a sigh, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and running his hands through his hair. "Christ, sorry. I just... it _is_ weird, you know? I'm sorry." 

"It's alright, dear. We don't have to," Freddie shrugged, smiling a little as he raised an eyebrow and jokingly added: "I'll live."

Roger took a deep breath, looking conflicted. "Okay, wait," he got up, crossing over to the door to switch off the lights. The room went completely dark, the sort of dark that hardly ever existed in London. Freddie felt Roger return to the bed and sit across from him. "Where are you?" 

A hand reached for him blindly and Freddie caught it, grinning, and pulled the other man closer.

"Here," he whispered, his eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light and making out movement in the dark. 

"Now it looks like we're definitely asleep," Roger explained, leaning in closer, one of his hands locating Freddie's cheek. There was something quite exciting about this, Freddie thought. Having to rely primarily on touch. Their lips found each other and he felt his heart beat faster as Roger kissed him properly, this time, slowly teasing and licking his way into his mouth. Oh god, he loved kissing him so much. It had no business being this _good_ , but it _was_ , and Freddie didn't think he could ever grow tired of it. Something about the intimacy of the darkness made the words spill out before he could stop himself, a barely audible, mumbled whisper against Roger's lips. 

"I love this." 

Roger pulled back. "... What?" 

"This," Freddie repeated, "I love this." 

"Oh," Roger exhaled, and swallowed. "Yeah... me too." 

Their lips collided again and Roger turned, lowering himself down and pulling Freddie along with him, on top of him. The bed creaked. They stopped for a moment and proceeded to lie down more carefully still, relaxing again as they wrapped their arms around each other. Staying quiet became a challenge sooner than Freddie had anticipated. He couldn't help the soft moans escaping him when Roger's hands slid underneath his t-shirt and his mouth found his throat. 

"Shh," Roger whispered, dragging his lips across his neck and up to Freddie's ear. "I know, it sucks... cause I fucking love hearing you." 

The words, so unexpectedly candid, made Freddie shiver and he moaned again, catching himself at it halfway through. 

Roger snorted quietly. " _Shhh_..." 

"Sorry," Freddie turned his head and kissed him, a smile on his lips, and promptly decided to try and turn the tables. He broke the kiss after a moment and leaned his cheek against Roger's, whispering in his ear. "I love turning you on, too," his heart was in his throat, knowing what he was about to say next, "It gets me so hard..."

" _Fuck_ ," Roger breathed, digging his fingers into Freddie's back as his hips bucked up against him. 

They kissed hungrily, pulling at each other's shirts now, only breaking apart to dispose of them in a hurry. Then they embraced again, hips moving against each other, hands roaming each other's bodies. It wasn't just the kissing, Freddie decided. He couldn't get enough of _this_ , either. He wanted him so much, wanted to touch and caress every part of him, wanted-  
A thought entered his mind, excitement at the very idea taking his breath away momentarily. His lips were on their way to Roger's ear before he could lose his nerve, because it was unspeakably scandalous to say that out loud and he couldn't possibly come out and say it, but yes, he could. 

Yes, he could.

'Just do it,' he urged himself, desire outweighing all modesty. 

"I want your cock in my mouth," Freddie whispered, shocking himself most of all, and yet immediately realising that saying it out loud - or, really, just whispering it quietly - was an incredible thrill. 

"Oh _Jesus_ , fucking hell..." Roger moaned breathily, completely forgetting himself for a moment as he wrapped a leg around Freddie's hip, thrusting up against him. 

Freddie grinned, feeling bolder and decidedly cheeky. "Do you want that?" he breathed, lips brushing Roger's ear, "Want me to suck you off?" 

He was frankly amazed at himself, not sure where any of this was coming from. He had never uttered anything the like to anybody before in his life, but _my goodness_ , he thought, he really enjoyed how outrageous it made him feel.

With a guttural moan, Roger threaded his fingers through Freddie's hair and kissed him hard, one hand sliding down between their bodies and straight past Freddie's waistband. Freddie whimpered into the kiss, unwittingly thrusting into Roger's hand as he stroked him, slowly and firmly. 'Or, you know, we can just do _this_ again,' he thought, burning desire pooling in the pit of his stomach. 'This is good...' That was a colossal understatement, of course. Just the fact that Roger's hand was on his dick, was insane, overwhelming and amazing. So much so that he didn't take notice of the sound of footsteps on the stairs out in the hallway. Not until Roger pulled his hand away and froze, shushing him. They lay still, barely breathing, hearts racing in unison, while the floorboards creaked just outside their door. Then the door to the bedroom beside Roger's opened, and shut. There was the sound of a light switch being flicked, and Roger's parents' quiet, muffled voices.  
Roger exhaled slowly, returning his attention to Freddie, who kissed him eagerly, relaxing back into their embrace. After a few moments, Freddie pulled back just enough to look into the other man's eyes, which he could now just about make out in the dark. Well, then. He smiled and leaned down, kissing his way from Roger's jaw to his neck, to his shoulder, slowly and gently. Across his chest, stopping to lap at a nipple, making the other man squirm, before he continued down his stomach. He stopped at the waistband, heart pounding in his chest. His hands moved up Roger's thighs until they reached their goal, stroking him through his pyjama bottoms. The younger man's breathing quickly became laboured, although he was doing his best to keep quiet.  
Freddie hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled the pyjama trousers down just enough. Roger swallowed, watching him with bated breath.  
Licking his lips, Freddie wrapped one hand around Roger's dick and contemplated it fondly for a moment, before he leaned in and took the head into his mouth. He heard a sharp intake of breath. His tongue darted over the underside of the shaft as he went down as far as he comfortably could, and he circled it around the tip as he moved back up, taking great care to keep his teeth well out of the way. Roger stifled a moan, his hips meeting Freddie's movements, so Freddie repeated what he was doing and slowly settled into a rhythm. A hand found his hair, fingers pulling at it slightly and tangling in it amidst Roger's whispered murmurs of delight. 

"Mmmhyeah... Oh fuck, Freddie... yeah..." 

Hearing his name whispered so keenly between quiet, breathy sounds of pleasure made Freddie shudder with desire, his pulse racing. His fingers dug into Roger's hip, holding him in place.  
When his jaw was starting to ache he pulled off for a bit, rapidly stroking Roger's dick with his hand, before he leaned down and sucked the head into his mouth again, eliciting a gasp. Then he experimentally lowered himself almost all the way down, trying not to gag and failing spectacularly. He tried a few more times - because Roger's hand in his hair and his hips, bucking slightly, seemed to be demanding more of that - but felt a bit pathetic because he couldn't stop himself gagging and his eyes were watering something awful as a result. He blinked and felt the wetness on his cheeks, quite glad of the darkness, just imagining what a sight he must be now. God, this was probably the world's most mediocre blowjob, Freddie thought as he returned his efforts to the head while his hand took care of the rest. He knew they were trying not to make a sound, but Roger had stopped whispering words of approval to him and even though he could hear him breathing unevenly through his nose and felt his body tremble, Freddie irrationally worried that he wasn't very good at this. The last time he'd even attempted was a very long time ago, and it wasn't as if he had known what to do then, either. So when Roger broke his silence a short while later, tapping him on the shoulder urgently, it almost took him by surprise. 

"I'm gonna... oh godnngh... now, _now_ -" 

Delighted that his worries were unwarranted, Freddie caught Roger's hand in his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

_It's okay._

Roger made a strangled noise, squeezing Freddie's hand tightly in return, and came in a series of violent shudders. 

"Ohhfuck..." he sighed, trying to catch his breath and shivering with the aftershocks. "Ohh, Jesus Christ..." 

Freddie lifted his head, a smile on his lips as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. "No mess," he whispered, quite proudly. 

Roger tried to say something but garbled his words beyond recognition. 

"What's that?" Freddie chuckled softly, crawling up to him and lowering himself down half on top of him. 

"Can't speak," the younger man breathed, raising a hand to the back of Freddie's neck and pulling him in for a kiss, "You," he murmured between kisses, "Amazing." Kiss. "Me." Kiss. " _Happy_." 

Freddie smiled. 

His heart felt light in his chest, so light he thought it might take flight. He leaned in and kissed Roger deeply, his thumb gently stroking his cheek. They were so wrapped up in each other that neither of them noticed or paid much mind to the muffled voices in the adjacent room, which had grown louder and harsher. 

Roger's hand traveled down to Freddie's waist, gently rolling him over and reversing their positions. "So..." he whispered playfully, smiling against his lips, fingers tugging at Freddie's waistband. "I reckon it's only fair-" 

But just then, the sound of a door in the hallway being flung open brought them both to a halt. 

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" 

Roger's father's voice, cutting through the silence of the night like thunder through the calm before the storm. 

"Keep your voice down, for heaven's sake," his mother's voice was a pleading, unnerved hiss. 

Freddie could feel Roger tense up in his arms before he pulled away from him, barely breathing as he listened. 

"Winnie!" 

"Be quiet, I'm _begging_ you..." 

The voices moved away from them, the sound of rapid footfall on the stairs. 

"No... nonono, come _on_... please..." Roger murmured to himself, lifting a hand to his head.

"I'm sick and tired of the lack of respect in this-" Roger's father's voice, from the bottom of the stairs, cut off by the door to the living room slamming. Freddie couldn't make out the rest of the words, only the timbre of their voices reached them now from downstairs. He sat up next to Roger, trying to make out his face in the darkness. For a few moments the younger man sat motionless, staring at the door and listening, clutching a fistful of his hair. Whatever was going on downstairs, it was no peaceful discussion, that much was clear. It was mostly Roger's father they could hear, the faint sound of his voice acerbic and threatening. There was a clatter, the sound of something getting knocked off the table, Freddie thought. 

" _Shit_ ," Roger whispered, miserably, and something seemed to snap in him. With a sudden fury and determination, he threw the duvet back, startling Freddie, and quickly climbed over him in search of his pyjama shirt. He pulled it on in a haste when he found it, heading straight for the door. Just before Freddie could think to say something, Roger turned back. 

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking and yet not really looking at him, "Just... stay here." 

"Okay?" said Freddie, pretty certain there was nowhere else for him to actually go anyway. 

And with that, Roger was gone, leaving him alone in the darkness, wondering what in the world was going on. 

\- - -

One of Roger's earliest memories was of broken glass on the kitchen floor and his mother crying hysterically, as if the world were ending. That was what it had felt like, anyway, in his three-year-old mind. He hadn't been supposed to be there, of course. Clare had only been a few months old, fast asleep in her cot, and the shouting hadn't woken her up. He remembered the door slamming, too. So violently that it had made the walls shake, in their little old house in King's Lynn. That was probably what had prompted him to tiptoe downstairs, clutching his stuffed toy rabbit.

"Mummy? Why you sad?" 

The look of dismay when his mother saw him, trying to wipe the tears away even though he wasn't little enough to be fooled so easily. "Careful, love! Don't come in here."

He remembered looking down at his bare feet, inches away from shards of glass.

"Why you sad? Cause daddy was shouting?"

His mother had ushered him out, into the corridor. "It's bedtime."

"Who breaked the glass, mummy?"

A sigh, a shuddering sob. "It was an accident, pet."

"Where daddy gone?"

"Bedtime," she had picked him up then, carrying him back up the stairs. 

"He gone away?" he remembered asking, with the innocent unyielding persistence of a three-year-old. "Why he gone away? Why, mummy? Where he gone?" 

His mother had stopped at the top of the stairs, setting him down and lowering herself to his eye level. 

"Shh. Roger, love, enough now. Don't you worry," the smile on her lips had been at odds with her red-rimmed eyes, glossy with tears. "It's _fine_. Everything's fine."

\- - -

Freddie leaned close to the door, listening carefully, his hand on the handle. Roger's arrival had broken up whatever was going on downstairs, but only initially. Freddie still couldn't make out what anyone was saying, but he could hear the agitation in their voices as they got louder and sharper in tone again. What had started as a heated argument between Roger's parents seemed to be quickly turning into a shouting match between Roger and his father, his mother's quieter, pleading voice attempting to intervene.  
Freddie was stunned by this turn of events. The little spat at the dinner table earlier was one thing, he could relate to that. But this was different. It sounded vicious in a way he wasn't used to, and quite frankly, a bit frightening.  
All but holding his breath, Freddie slowly pushed down the door handle and cracked the door open, poking his head out into the hallway. 

"...not going to do that anymore!" Roger was shouting, evidently standing closer to the door as Freddie could just about make out most of his words but barely any of the response. 

"Good for you! ... man now... what you think!" 

"Shall I tell you what I fucking think!? ... fucking _drunk_... that's not... well alone!" 

Roger had moved away from the door, making it more difficult to understand him. Freddie moved to step out into the hallway, but that moment he heard Clare's door open and quickly retreated, quietly pulling his door shut. The floorboards in the hallway creaked, but he couldn't hear anyone going down the stairs. He concluded that she must have stopped right at the top, right outside Roger's bedroom. 

'Shit,' Freddie thought, staring at the closed door, one hand over his mouth. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He didn't want to be caught listening in on what was very clearly private family matters, but at the same time not knowing what was happening downstairs was killing him. There was an awful feeling of dread in his gut now, and suddenly Roger's parting words came back to him. 

'Stay here.'

Freddie felt a cold shiver run down his spine. In light of what was going on, those words sounded very different to him now, and made him want to do the exact opposite. A part of him wanted to throw the door open and run downstairs to- well, he didn't know, really. Make sure Roger was alright? Was that ridiculous? This was his _family_ , Freddie reminded himself, and he knew close to nothing about them. Families fought sometimes, that wasn't very unusual.

Right?

\- - -

The first time he had caught a slap, Roger was six years old. Clare had backed into a corner, hands over hear ears, crying unconsolably and screaming her head off. 

There had been so much screaming. He had just wanted it to stop. 

It had all started over dinner, and he didn't remember why or how. First their parents had been screaming at each other, and then their mother had been crying and Roger hadn't understood what it was all about or his father's words, but he had understood enough to know they were _mean_ words and then, he had started screaming, too. 

"Stop it, daddy! Stop shouting! Just stop shouting! _Stop shouting_!" He had grabbed on to the back of his father's shirt, pulling as hard as he could. "Leave mummy ALONE! Shut up, shut up! SHUT UP!" 

But it hadn't been enough to even be acknowledged, so he had done the only other thing he could think of and run between them. 

"Shut up! SHUT _UP!_ " he had yelled angrily at his father, his little hands balled into fists. 

The slap had almost knocked him sideways and sent him stumbling back, straight into his mother's lap. And there he had stayed for a long time after, first in complete shock and then wailing into her apron while the door slammed shut. While Clare emerged from the corner and joined them. While their mother held them tight and cried with them, until she regained her composure. 

The next day their father had taken them out for ice cream. 

Daddy was sorry.  
Daddy had been very angry and sometimes when people were very angry, they did bad things.  
Daddy was going to be good from now on.  
Daddy loved them. 

Daddy loved them so much.

\- - -

The yelling was getting louder and Freddie couldn't bare it. But then the sound of Clare's bare feet hurrying down the stairs caught his attention. His hand was back on the door handle in a flash. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, reaching the top of the stairs just as Clare disappeared out of sight at the bottom. The door to the living room opened and suddenly, he could hear it all loud and clear. Except everyone was screaming over each other and everything went so fast he barely had time to register it all. 

"... know what's good for you!" 

"Mike! Don't... please!" Roger's mother was crying. 

"DO IT THEN!" Roger yelled, his voice shaking. 

"Shut your _goddamn_ mouth!" his father growled. 

"FUCKING _GO ON_!"

"Roger-" Clare's terrified voice. "Dad, _stop_!" 

There was a scuffle, and then a loud crash. Like furniture being knocked over. An outcry and a gasp, half drowned out by Roger's father's voice. 

"YOU SEE? _You see_ what you've done- This- this is on _you_!" 

Thundering footsteps. Freddie leapt back from the top of the stairs into the shadows when Roger's father stormed out of the living room. The front door opened and slammed shut. 

A ringing silence followed, only broken by quiet sobbing.

Freddie remembered to breathe. 

Holy _fuck._

"Mum," Roger's voice, raspy from shouting and gentle in tone. "Mum..." 

"I'm so sorry, love, I'm sorry. Oh sweetheart, are you alright?" 

Their voices were quiet now, and Freddie strained to hear what they were saying, taking a few steps down the stairs and leaning over the bannister.

"Mum, I'm fine. I'm fine, see? Please, stop crying. Please." 

"Are you alright?" 

"Oh, Clare, you should be in bed, pet... look at this mess... I'm so sorry..."

"Don't worry about that now. Clare, the door-"

"Roger, what were you thinking? You shouldn't have come down, really you shouldn't..." 

The living room door closed, making it near impossible to hear their hushed voices.

Freddie slowly lowered himself down, perching at the top of the stairs. He felt like he really shouldn't be listening to any of this in the first place, but felt compelled to try anyway. Until it became obvious that he wasn't going to catch much more of their conversation without creeping downstairs and pressing his ear to the door. Just as he had reluctantly decided that he should probably abandon his post, the door opened again and the Taylor children emerged with their mother. Freddie quickly scrambled up the stairs and quietly made his way back to Roger's room, pulling the door shut carefully a few moments before their footsteps reached the top floor.  
He backed away onto his mattress, half expecting Roger to come in, but he did not. So Freddie sat down, exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and stared into space, trying to process what he had just witnessed. 

\- - -

The day of the broken pearl necklace was one Roger had never forgotten. None of them had.

Even many years later, even though he'd only been eleven years old at the time, Roger remembered every detail. 

It had been an accident. They all knew that. Clare knew it and Roger knew it, and their mother knew it best of all, and told them so, over and over again. She had slipped on the pearls, they knew, and that was how she had fallen. It was just unfortunate that it had happened at the top of the stairs. However, it was a miracle that she had come away with only a cracked rib and a concussion. A blessing and a miracle. 

That was what they remembered, of the day of the broken pearl necklace. 

But Roger also remembered the terrifying, angry shouting that had preceeded the accident. Because it had sent him running into the hallway, and he remembered his mother's strangled cry as her air supply had been cut off. And then, the necklace breaking when it had been ripped from her throat. All because she had turned to leave. Pearls clattering and boucing all over the wooden floor while she stumbled, reeling from the scuffle.

But the fall had been an accident. 

Nobody had meant for _that_ to happen, after all.

\- - -

It was a while before Roger returned. There were whispers outside his parents' bedroom, and then Freddie could faintly hear Clare and Roger talking in her room. Halfway through he shivered and realised he was still shirtless. God, Freddie thought, feeling around for the t-shirt he had been wearing, he had almost entirely forgotten what Roger's parents' fight had interrupted. Not sure when, or even if, Roger would be back, Freddie lay down and curled up on his mattress, pulling the blanket over himself. Stupidly, the only thing he could suddenly think about was that it felt as though every time he had found himself in compromising situations with other boys, some awful, traumatic event always eventually followed. 

Maybe it was a sign. 

A cosmic warning that they shouldn't be doing what they were doing in the first place. 

God's punishment, Freddie thought darkly, and almost believed it, too.

When the door finally opened, he was lying on his back, one hand behind his head, close to drifting off. But the sound roused him immediately and he sat up, looking at Roger's silhoutte against the dim light falling in from the hallway. 

"Oh. You're still up," Roger sighed and closed the door behind him.

'Obviously, dear!' Freddie wanted to say, trying not to take offence to his tone, 'I've been worried.'

"Yes," he heard himself say instead, "Is everything alright?"

"Mhm. Yeah." Roger replied with a faint nod, and it sounded like: 'No. Not really.' "Can we please just go to sleep," he added quietly. 

It wasn't a question. Without expecting or waiting for a reply, he crossed over to his bed where he proceeded to wrap himself in his duvet and very deliberately turned to face the wall.

Freddie looked at him for a long while, not moving because he couldn't decide what to do. Clearly, Roger wanted to be left alone. And yet, Freddie simply couldn't bring himself to just leave him to it and pretend everything was fine when he was obviously very upset. With the latter thought in mind, Freddie realised the decision had already been made. 

He pulled himself up and carefully sat down on the edge of Roger's bed. Roger didn't move nor acknowledge him, so he placed his hand atop the duvet softly, roughly where he suspected Roger's arm might be.  
There was a sigh, something between exasperation and anguish.  
Freddie waited for any sign of resistence, but there was none. So he slowly pulled his legs up onto the bed and lay down on his side, folding one arm underneath his head and wrapping the other arm around Roger. He could feel how tense Roger's body was even through the duvet, but he wasn't pushing him away nor telling him to get off, so Freddie hugged him a little tighter. 

"You don't understand-" Roger finally said, his voice strained.

"It's alright," Freddie whispered, gently as he could, "You don't have to explain." 

And neither of them said anything else after that. Not when Roger's breath hitched, his shoulders trembling slightly. Or when quiet sniffs gave him away even though he was determined not to let on. Nor when a hand finally found Freddie's arm, clutching on to him and pulling him closer.

Freddie woke up on the floor, or to be more precise, on the mattress, having eventually moved there in the early hours of the morning.  
The room was bright with morning sunlight. He stretched, feeling his back click in several places, and glanced up at the bed beside him. Memories of the night before clouded his mind, the uneasy feeling in his gut promptly making a return. He sat up, peering over he edge of the bed.  
Roger had his back turned to him, his breathing slow and calm. By all appearances, he was still asleep and hadn't so much as moved throughout the night. Freddie sighed and lay back down, closing his eyes again and allowing himself to doze off for a little while. 

The sound of sheets rustling and the bed creaking brought him back around some time later and he opened his eyes, just as Roger's face came into view.

"Hey," Roger mumbled groggily, and disappeared into his bed again.

"Hey..." Freddie slowly sat up, propping one arm up on the edge of Rodger's bed and leaning his head on top of it. The younger man was lying on his back, rubbing his face. 'Are you alright?', Freddie wanted to ask, but didn't, in fear of broaching a subject Roger did not want to talk about first thing in the morning. Or at all.  
Roger went to stretch and winced. He frowned, confused at what had caused him pain, and instinctively reached around to touch his back. 

"What's wrong?" Freddie asked and watched him pause, realisation dawning on his face, before he pulled his hand away slowly. 

"Nothing," he murmured quietly, "Just a bruise, probably." 

"Let me see?"

"No," Roger said, a little too quickly, "It's okay." 

"How'd you even..." Freddie started, and trailed off, remembering the sound of what he had thought was furniture being knocked over amidst all the yelling. _Oh._ "You might as well show me, it's not like I won't see it eventually," he pointed out, his tone deliberately nonchalant. 

Roger met his eyes for a moment and noisily breathed out through his nose. Then he pushed the duvet down and rolled over to face the wall, reaching back over his shoulder to pull up his shirt. 

"Oh, my god," Freddie blurted out, eyes widening when he saw the large, dark bruise on his back. 

"Can't be that bad," Roger mumbled, tugging his shirt back down. 

"Shit... how..."

"It's _fine_ ," the younger man sat up and turned his back to the wall. "It was an accident, alright?" he said testily, "I fucking fell, banged myself on the bloody table edge, that's all."

Freddie just looked at him for a long moment, and Roger averted his eyes, running a hand through his messy hair. 

'But what made you fall?' Freddie wanted to ask. 'Was _that_ an accident, too?' However, he didn't say that out loud. 

For a start, he already knew the answer. 

\- - -

Roger's scrambled eggs had gone cold, which was just as well, because he wasn't hungry. He sighed and stood up from the table, taking his plate to the kitchen counter where he stood and watched his mother for a few long moments as she scuttled about restlessly in an effort to appear busy. Too busy to stop and talk to him, or so much as look him in the eye, although it wasn't as if he knew what to say, either. All he knew was that he didn't want to leave her alone while she was like this, and that he couldn't leave until his father had come home, because _who knew_. No one could ever predict the mood he might be in when he returned, and so Roger needed to be there for his mother and for Clare, because he hadn't been there for months.  
He lowered his eyes, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders where it had no place. After all, it wasn't wrong of him to just want to live his life, in London. Surely it wasn't. But things were not as simple as that.

"Oh, that's lovely."

Roger looked up, raising his eyebrows. His mother had stopped, holding a dish cloth, and was thoughtfully gazing toward the living room as she listened to Freddie's playing. 

"He plays ever so well, doesn't he," she said, her expression lighting up a little, "I haven't heard this song in such a long time."

Too preoccupied with his thoughts to really listen at first, Roger now turned his attention to it as well. He recognised the tune Fred was playing, it was very familiar, but it took him a moment to identify it in his mind as that Buddy Holly song he'd probably heard a million times on the radio since he was little. Just then, Freddie started singing. Quietly, at first, starting at the key change rather than the beginning of the song.

" _Every day seems a little longer, every way, love's a little stronger... Come what may, do you ever long for... true love from me..._ "

A piano interlude followed and Winifred Taylor left the dish cloth on the counter as she walked toward the living room, stopping in the doorway to listen. Clare also rose from her chair and squeezed past, flopping down in an armchair in he living room. Roger followed them and stepped into the living room just as Freddie started to sing again, the bridge repeating itself. Without thinking about it too much, Roger picked up a harmony and quietly joined in. Freddie threw a quick glance over his shoulder, breaking into a smile, and started at the beginning of the song once more. He sang it louder this time, and Roger kept up, chuckling when he mangled some of the words.

" _Every day it's a-gettin' closer, going faster than a roller-coaster, love like yours will surely come my way..._ "

Roger turned a dining chair around and straddled it, drumming his fingers on the thick wooden spokes of the backrest. Clare was bobbing her head and looked over at their mother, who was leaning against the doorframe with her arms wrapped around herself, a warm smile on her face. The first genuine smile they had seen her smile all morning. When the song finished, Freddie waggled his eyebrows at him and promptly segued into Doin' Alright. Roger laughed out loud, but then nodded enthusiastically.

" _Yesterday, my life was in ruins_ ," Fred sang with a smile on his lips, " _Now, today, I know what I'm doin'... got a feeling I should be doing alright..._ "

Roger joined in on the harmonies and then took over for the second verse. Before long, they had gone through some Elvis, Frank Sinatra and a very camp version of Oh I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside, which everyone joined in on, and which ultimately ended in plenty of laughter.

"You boys are a marvel, oh dear me," Roger's mother was wiping her eyes on her apron and laughing, perched on the armrest of the armchair Clare was sitting in. The girl threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.

That was when Roger heard the key turn in the front door, and the laughter died in his throat. 'Fuck, here we go', he thought, a feeling of dread rising in his chest. The others had heard the door as well now and everybody grew quiet, turning to face the doorway which lead to the entryway.

The first thing they saw appear in the door was the large bouquet of flowers and Roger felt himself breathe a sigh of relief, even though in his heart of hearts, he felt this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair and it wasn't enough, it had never been enough. What good were all the flowers and all the ice cream in the world when an apology meant nothing? When nothing changed, and the cycle repeated itself, over and over and over. Screaming, tears, kiss and make up. Rinse and repeat. Was this really what love was supposed to be like?  
But of course his father looked so guilt-stricken, and his mother rose to her feet and readily accepted the flowers, as Roger knew she would. Because she forgave, she always did, forgave every cruel word hurled at her and every threat and, sometimes, more than that. Things that should never be forgiven, a part of him thought, and yet it was such a relief to know that there was peace now. Until next time. Then Clare ran to hug their father, because above all, Clare yearned for that same peace and happiness, and he understood her. How could he not? Their father kissed her forehead and also acknowledged Freddie, jokingly remarking what a terrible first impression he must have of them now, and oh well, that was life, eh? They'd certainly make it up to him today. How about a boating trip?

"Roger," his father then addressed him as his mother took the flowers to the kitchen and Clare went to fetch a vase, "Don't look at me like that. Come on now."

He gestured to the flowers, trying to emphasise how really truly sorry he was, and how unreasonable it would be for Roger to hold any grudges now that everyone was friends again. Then he opened his arms wide, an expectant, apologetic look on his face.  
Roger sighed heavily and reluctantly got up, stepping closer and allowing himself to be pulled into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," his father said quietly, patting him on the back. Just missing the sore spot where his ribs had collided with the table edge last night when he had been hurled into it. "I love you, son." 

"I know, dad," Roger replied, because he knew it was true, and for some reason that was the worst part. "Love you, too." 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone okay? I'm not sure I'm okay.  
> My heart hurt writing this chapter. 
> 
> Just in case you're interested, here is a piano version of Buddy Holly's "Everyday" which is close to what I imagined Fred was playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2am-31wyxOU
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Please! Pretty, please. I can't tell you how much I want to hear your thoughts on this one in particular.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward attempts at intimacy, part II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the action and drama of last chapter, this one's on the quieter side.  
> I feel like I should remind you all, once again, that Roger is only 19. Just... keep that in mind.

\- - -

"Fuck, I was dying for a fag," Roger said, lighting a cigarette the moment the door closed behind them. He offered the pack to Freddie, who accepted out of habit. The air felt so fresh and clean here, it was almost a pity to be breathing cigarette smoke.

"So where are we going?" Freddie asked, falling into step next to his friend once he had lit his own. As soon as things had settled down at home, Roger had quickly announced to everybody that they were going for a walk to St Clement. Freddie was under the impression that Roger had just wanted to flee the house, and he wasn't complaining because he had very much shared that desire. 

"Okay, so," Roger took a long drag from his cigarette, "there's this fishing village by the river, about a half hour walk away. And I do mean _village_ , literally a few houses."

"And?"

Roger snorted. "And that's it, Fred. It's a nice spot. What did you expect? There's fuck all to do in this shitty little town."

Freddie fell silent. It was evident that Roger wasn't really himself at the moment, judging by his acerbic tone. He couldn't blame him. There was no point in addressing it, either. If Roger wanted to talk about last night and about what was on his mind, he would. Or so Freddie hoped, because he didn't particularly like this sarcastic, gloomy version of him. Perhaps selfishly, Freddie just wanted his fun, carefree friend back, but wondered whether that was too much to ask right now. Roger had come out of his funk for a little while during their impromtu singalong, which Freddie had thoroughly enjoyed, although at the same time it had once again reminded him that his idea of joining Smile was never going to materialise now. He tried not to dwell on that. 

They walked in silence for a while, reaching the outskirts of town, before Roger started telling him a story about stealing a boat at St Clement one night with his friends and capsizing it. Freddie smiled to himself as he listened. Roger never could stay quiet for any length of time. However, it was very apparent that he was just talking for the sake of talking, and that his mind was entirely elsewhere.

So was Freddie's, for that matter. He still didn't know what to make of the events he had witnessed. There were so many questions left unanswered that he didn't know where to begin. How regularly did this kind of thing happen? How long had it been going on? Often enough and long enough for Roger to read the signs, he figured, thinking back to the way his friend had been watching his father after dinner last night while simultanously pretending nothing was wrong. It all made a lot more sense to Freddie now, in hindsight. 

They had left Truro and were walking down a small, unpaved country road, surrounded by farm fields and grasslands, when Roger suddenly took Freddie's hand and dragged him off the road.

"Let's go this way for a minute," he muttered, without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

"What's going on?" Freddie asked, trying not to trip in the tall grass by the wayside and scraping past some brambles - wishing he had worn Roger's jeans, because this was going to _ruin_ his trousers - as he followed the other man toward a little grove of trees. 

"Where are we going? Rog?" He chuckled a little nervously when Roger didn't reply straight away. His intuition was telling him that he didn't like this very much, but he wasn't sure why, so he pushed the feeling aside. 

"No one's gonna see us here," Roger finally said, pulling him into the trees before he let go of his hand and turned to face him. 

Freddie took a quick look around. 

It was true, the spot was remote enough. There were no farm houses in sight and the road was quite a way behind them. His eyes met Roger's and he understood why they were here. But what should have felt like a thrill didn't feel quite _right_ , and Freddie realised why. 

It was the look on the other man's face. 

Where before there had been longing and the warm spark of desire, there wasn't as much as a smile. Only a sort of calculated determination.  
Then Roger moved. In fact, he almost pounced, crossing the distance between them and bringing his hands up to Freddie's face, pressing their lips together and pushing him back and back, until they came up against the thick trunk of an old tree. Freddie made a startled noise, kissing him back a little reluctantly, his hands hovering around the other man's waist.

"Roger..." he breathed, trying to catch the other's eye when he pulled back for a moment. The fair-haired man looked at him, but it was as if he wasn't really _looking_ at all, as if he was staring right through him, his expression cold and strangely desperate, and Freddie didn't like it one bit.  
But he let himself be kissed anyway, hard and rough and deep, and his body was eager to respond but the uneasy feeling in his chest wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, he only knew that kissing Roger had never felt like _this_ before. Almost as if he was kissing a stranger, Freddie thought, which made no sense. He awkwardly placed his hands on the other's shoulders, feeling incredibly conflicted about what was happening and not quite understanding why. Roger moved on to his neck with the same ferocity, his hands already working on Freddie's belt buckle. 

"Really? Here?" Freddie asked meakly, drawing a sharp breath when teeth scraped the side of his neck. 

"Why not?" Roger yanked the front of the belt free, one hand sliding down to stroke him through his trousers. Freddie bit his lip, closing his eyes momentarily. 

"I owe you."

"You don't..." Freddie started, and was cut off when the younger man kissed him again, plunging his tongue deep into his mouth, pushing him up against the tree with his thigh between his legs. Roger's hands found his wrists and he pushed Freddie's arms up above his head, pinning them against the tree. And Freddie knew he had rather enjoyed this when Roger had done the exact same thing before, so why was there a knot in his stomach now? Was it that Roger's grip was so tight it was almost painful? Was it that the way he was kissing him lacked any tenderness, any playfulness, any actual feeling whatsoever other than lust? Freddie turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss. 

"W-wait, stop," he heard himself say, looking at Roger out of the corner of his eye and searching for something, he wasn't sure what. 

Roger frowned and looked _annoyed_. "Why?"

"I don't..." Freddie didn't really know what to say. 

'I don't know. I don't like this.' 

"Not like this..." Was what came out. 

"What do you _mean_?" Roger demanded with a huff, releasing his hands and looking at him as if he was being completely unreasonable. Freddie felt awful, wondering if he was making something out of nothing. Wondering if he was letting Roger down. He pulled his lips over his teeth, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Is this really what you want to do... right now?" he asked, very carefully. 

Roger narrowed his eyes, leaning back a little. Freddie really wished he would stop looking at him as if he were crazy, because he was positive that he wasn't crazy, and whatever was going on here was not right. 

"This is exactly what I wanna do right now," Roger said, looking him up and down. "What's wrong with you? You were pretty fucking keen last night."

'What's wrong with _me_?' Freddie thought, a little shocked at the way he was being spoken to. It was bordering on mean. 'You weren't like this last night.'

"Well, I don't want to, now," he said, quietly but firmly. 

Roger's ice-blue eyes bored into him, his jaw tense. Then he backed away and shrugged, brushing the hair out of his face. 

"You know what, fine. Whatever. Didn't really feel like finding out how much I don't like sucking dick anyway, if I'm honest," he scoffed, and put his hands on his hips, peering into the distance through the trees. 

Freddie stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, completely taken aback by the sheer nastiness of the implication behind his words. It was a blow delivered expertly to the most vulnerable, insecure part of him, and it really _hurt_ , coming from someone he trusted so much. His face darkened and he raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you worry," he retorted bitterly, "Now you won't ever have to find out." 

And with that he shouldered past him and started walking back to the road, fumbling with his belt which refused to do up, because his hands were shaking. He heard Roger curse behind him and then call out. 

"Freddie, wait!" 

"You can be a real tosser, you know that?!" Freddie shouted back hotly, without stopping or turning around.

"Please, wait! I'm _sorry_! That was a shitty thing to say..." 

Freddie finally succeeded in doing up his belt and stopped, scowling at the road in front of him and the green fields beyond, dotted with patches of red poppies.

"No fucking kidding!" 

"I'm sorry," Roger said in a breathless voice, catching up with him. "You're right, you're absolutely right. I'm so sorry, I didn't even mean it at all. Freddie, _please_..." He sounded genuine and upset, and Freddie felt his heart soften despite himself. He took a deep breath, digging his nails into his palms.

"Then why would you say it?" he asked in an unsteady voice, just loud enough for the other to hear.

"I don't know," Roger groaned miserably. "Fuck, I really don't know..." There was a quiver in his voice. "I'm just like him, aren't I." 

Freddie turned around slowly, meeting his eyes, and was taken aback by the raw emotion in them. The impenetrable, icy wall had crumbled, giving way to a flood of despair. 

"I hate him so fucking much right now," Roger said, his voice breaking. "But I'm just like him." 

Freddie sighed, taking a step toward him. "You're not..."

"Yes, I am!" Roger shouted at the open field, throwing up his arms. "I have his eyes and I have his fucking temper." He hung his head, clenching his fists. " _FUCK!_ I'm so fucking _angry_ , you have no idea!" 

Freddie had some idea. 

"I could just-" Roger's gaze fell on a dead, splintered tree a few yards away and he stormed over to it in a few paces, giving it a kick that sent chunks of rotten bark flying. Not content, he kicked at the trunk again, over and over, and whacked it with his arm for good measure. Then he finally collapsed into the grass beside it, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.  
Freddie approached him slowly, his own anger fading. None of this was really about him at all, was it?

"Boy, am I glad I didn't let you anywhere near my bits," he deadpanned. 

Roger laughed weakly through tears, wiping his face on his sleeve. 

"I just... I just wanted to feel something," he said quietly, and folded his arms on top of his knees, lowering his forehead onto them. "Other than this." 

Freddie sat down beside him and lay a comforting hand on his back. There was a strangled sob and a shuddering sigh. Roger turned his face the other way. 

"Christ, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," his tearful voice was muffled against his arm, "I'm so embarrassed I want to fucking die." 

Freddie tutted quietly, rubbing a small circle between the other man's shoulder blades. 

"Don't be so dramatic, darling."

Roger snorted. "Look who's talking." 

"Exactly!" Freddie lifted his hand and gently stroked Roger's head, carefully untangling a few strands of soft, dark blond hair. "You're making _me_ be the sensible one. I can't possibly keep this up, dear. I'll have to call Brian in for reinforcements or _something_." 

Roger chuckled and sighed, his breathing slowly normalising. He lifted his head and wiped his face again, glancing over at Freddie with puffy eyes.

"You won't tell anyone, will you? About any of it, I mean." 

"No, of course not," Freddie replied solemnly, his fingers still smoothing out Roger's unruly hair around his face. "I was just joking. I would never." 

"Okay, good," Roger nodded and lowered his eyes, picking at the grass beside him. "Thank you." 

When Freddie put his arm around his shoulders, Roger allowed himself to be hugged closer and slowly placed his head on Freddie's shoulder, turning into him until he was leaning against his chest. There was something so childlike and vulnerable about it that Freddie felt it keenly in his heart. He turned his head a little and pressed his cheek against the top of Roger's head. 

"It's not always like this, you know?" Roger said quietly, after a while. "Most of the time, everything's fine and when he's in a good mood he's great. Most of the time. And I start to think, maybe it's fine. Maybe it's all not as bad as I remember, you know? Cause when things are good they're really good... but when they're bad..."

"They're really bad," said Freddie. 

"Yeah."

"How often are things like this?" he asked and felt Roger sigh. 

"I don't know. Every few months or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes not for a long time and then you start dreading it, like you know it's coming, you just don't know when." 

"That's awful. I'm sorry." 

Roger was quiet for a long time. Freddie watched the wild flowers and the tall grass swaying in the field, his eyes following the few bees and butterflies flitting between them. 

"I've abandoned them," Roger eventually said. "My mum and Clare."

Freddie shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous..." 

"I have. And you know what the worst part is? I'm glad I'm gone." 

There was nothing Freddie could think to say to that, nothing that Roger would listen to right now anyway. 

"If you thought your family was fucked up..." Roger pulled away and disentangled himself from the embrace, sitting up straight again.

Freddie shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Everyone's fucked up in a different way." 

"I wish mum would just leave him, I honestly think everyone would be better off. But I don't think she ever will." Roger tore out a fistful of grass and threw it to the wind. "She loves him too much," he said, and stopped to think about it, shaking his head. "Screw love, man." 

Freddie squinted at the few slow-moving, feathery clouds in the sky. 

"I don't think my parents love each other," he mused, "Well, I mean, they probably do now, I don't know. They get on fine. But I don't think they were ever _in_ love."

Roger looked over at him, then back at the horizon. 

"I don't think I ever want to get married."

That was fair enough, Freddie thought, given the circumstances. Although he couldn't help but feel a little surprised to hear it anyway, because it seemed to him that getting married was an inevitability of life. Grow up and get married, have children. Those weren't things he had actively thought about very much, but he had always quietly assumed in the back of his mind that they would happen to him. And now that he did think about it, he realised he wanted them to happen. The idea of growing old alone seemed far worse than growing old at all, which in itself was a terrible fate, he thought, albeit shared by all of humanity. 

"Some holiday," Roger scoffed, brushing the grass off his hands and interrupting Freddie's ruminations. "Sorry, Fred." 

Freddie leaned forward, meeting Roger's gaze. "It's not your fault." 

Instead of a reply, Roger just rolled his eyes and sighed, lowering his head as he absently studied and then tore up a daisy in his hands, almost as if he was playing 'She loves me, she loves me not'. Freddie watched him for a moment and then reached over to a patch of tall wild grass. He plucked one and aimed the tip at Roger's nose. The fair-haired man tried to brush it away, not realising what was tickling him, before he looked up and broke into a lop-sided smile. 

"Hey, knock it off." 

Freddie didn't, and Roger sat up straighter, eventually pulling the piece of long grass out of his hands. 

"So, where's the river?" Freddie asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is there a river? Or was that just a clever ruse to drag me out here." 

Roger chuckled. "No, there's a river." He rose to his feet and brushed himself off, stretching out a hand to help Freddie up. "Come on." 

There was a river. A little village, too. 

It was nothing spectacular, but at the same time very picturesque. A few boats, painted blue and white, bobbed in the water which glistened in the brilliant sunshine. There was hardly a soul around, on this quiet Sunday morning. The small houses reflected in the water, and a pair of swans gracefully floated in the distance, grooming their feathers. It was very tranquil, almost like a painting come to life, Freddie thought. They had walked down along the riverbank a fair bit, away from the village, until they had come across some boulders right by the edge of the water. Roger was currently standing on the largest rock, overlooking the woodland and the houses in the distance, cigarette in hand and his hair blowing in the breeze. 

"Can you imagine living here?" he asked, blowing out smoke between his lips. 

"Oh god, no. I'd go out of my mind in a week," Freddie was sitting on the boulder next to him, one leg crossed over the other.

Roger gave a quiet chuckle and took another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah," he exhaled, "me too, probably." 

Freddie tilted his head to one side as he peered up at the younger man beside him. The sun was catching strands of his hair, making them appear lighter, a shade of honey gold. 

"I wish I'd brought a camera," Freddie said absently. 

"You have a camera?" Roger asked. 

"No," Freddie sighed sadly. "I wish I _had_ a camera." 

Roger put his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, taking a last drag, and crouched down to stub it out against the rock. "I mean, it's not _that_ beautiful. What would you take a picture of? The boats?" 

Their eyes met. Freddie hesitated a moment, the hint of a smile on his lips, before he replied. 

"You." 

\- - -

Roger said nothing. There was that familiar painful-pleasant flutter in his chest. He held Freddie's gaze, slowly sliding his feet down from the boulder to the ground and leaning back against it. Freddie was looking at him in a way that made him want to lean down and kiss him, but after what had happened earlier, he wasn't sure that was the best idea. He wasn't sure Freddie wanted him to, anymore.  
That was, until the dark-haired man stood up and cast a careful look back at the quiet village. Then he turned to him and stepped closer, placing a hand on the boulder right beside him. Standing so close that their knees were touching.  
His other hand lifted up to touch Roger's cheek. 

"So, not calling it off then," Roger said quietly, feeling a warmth course through him, melting away the numbness inside which had permeated him like a chilly winter fog all morning. 

"I guess not."

Freddie kissed him. Softly, slowly. A stark contrast to what he had done to him earlier this morning, and Roger felt terrible, wondering and yet knowing exactly what had come over him. It wouldn't be the first time he had turned to physical pleasure to escape emotional pain, and on a night out after a few pints, it worked great. For a while, at least. But those encounters were not like this. He couldn't stuff whatever _this_ was into the same mental drawer, he realised. 

Because he cared. 

He really cared about Freddie. 

They pulled apart, leaning their foreheads against each other. 

"I'm so sorry," Roger said for what felt like the millionth time, but he really did mean it. "You've been great about everything and you didn't have to be. I'm such an ass." 

Instead of a reply, Freddie just hummed thoughtfully. 

"I mean, feel free to disagree," Roger added with a mirthless chuckle.

Freddie pressed another, brief kiss to his lips before he pulled away and leaned against the rock beside him, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"God knows why I like you as much as I do," he sighed, not without a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

"I mean..." Roger raised his eyebrows and leaned back onto the boulder, on his elbows, looking himself up and down with a cheeky smile.  
Freddie rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin, and turned away for a moment. He kicked at the pebbles by his feet, suddenly serious and a little awkward. 

"You know, you don't..." he started, and cleared his throat, not looking at Roger. "You really don't have to do anything that you don't want to. I'd hate for you to think..." 

Freddie trailed off again and Roger straightened up, watching him closely. 

"To... to do things just because you _owe_ me," Freddie continued, his voice low. He scratched the tip of his nose, glancing over at Roger for a brief moment. "If you don't really want to, I mean. You don't owe me, I don't expect anything... in return." 

Roger raised his eyebrows, breaking into a grin. "You're hysterical, you know that?" he laughed, "The things you came out with last night and now you're fucking blushing, I swear." 

Freddie lowered his head a little more and blushed a deeper shade of red, pulling his top lip over his teeth. 

" _Anyway_ ," Roger suppressed a snicker, nudging him gently with his shoulder. "That's good to know and all, thanks for that. But, please forget what I said earlier? I didn't really mean it. It's just... I'm not..." Now it was his turn to stumble over his words, it seemed. Roger frowned a little, squinting at the houses in the distance. 

"I'm not _gay_ ," he finally said, almost swallowing the last word, but he knew Freddie had heard him right because he turned and gave him a bemused look. 

"It's fine," Roger was quick to assure him, although he wasn't sure what exactly was 'fine'. "It's just, I've been thinking about it and, uhm..." 

Freddie was watching him carefully with a somewhat guarded expression. 

"Ugh, Jesus," Roger gave up and hung his head for a moment, then looked up at the sky. "Let me try again." 

"Please do," Freddie said quietly, "I don't think I have any idea where you're going with this." 

"I know I fancy girls, alright?" Roger blurted out, almost exasperated. "And I think, I mean, it's pretty obvious that I like you," he glanced back over at Freddie, who was scratching at his chin, one arm around his chest. "But that's just _you_ ," Roger said dumbly, not sure where he was going with this anymore either. 

"Uhm.." Freddie bit at his thumbnail and lowered his eyes with a thoughtful frown. 

"I don't know what I'm trying to say," Roger sighed, shaking his head, and laughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I really don't know. It made sense in my head."

He stared at his feet for a moment, chewing his lower lip. "Because we were sort of joking about it on the train, and-" he broke off. 

"And you didn't want me to think you were... serious?" 

Freddie almost sounded a little amused now. Roger shrugged, shaking his head again. The more he thought about it now the more ridiculous it seemed. 

"Well, I didn't think you were, dear," Freddie informed him, "I mean, we were just having a laugh. I'm not... I wasn't being serious either," he added, studying his nails with his fingers outstretched. 

"Right," Roger frowned, feeling more confused than ever. 

"But if you don't want to carry on just say it," Freddie suddenly said, his voice a little higher than usual and tinged with disappointment even though he was evidently trying to come across as nonchalant.

Roger's head snapped up and he met his eyes again.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say. At all," he was more certain about that, than anything else right now. "I do, I _want_ to, that's just it. I just don't know what that... means." 

"Oh," Freddie's shoulders relaxed a little and he tilted his head to the side. "You know, I think... Why does it matter? As long as we know... what we want," His fingers grazed Roger's hand. "Nobody else will ever know."

Roger nodded and looked down at their hands as their fingers intertwined, a small smile on his lips. "I guess." 

"What do you want?" Freddie asked quietly. Roger lifted his eyes back up to him and swallowed.  
They moved almost at the same time, leaning into each other, and he raised his hand to touch Freddie's hair, his neck, running his thumb over the stubble on his jaw. Their lips were so close they were almost touching. 

"Rog?" 

'More,' Roger thought, gazing into Freddie's eyes. 'More of you.' 

"This," he said, and kissed him. 

While this kiss was just as sweet and slow as the last, it was also _more_. It made his heart beat faster and Roger slid an arm around Freddie's waist, pulling him against himself. When they pulled apart, he turned to look at the village again and squinted, trying to make out the houses better. He didn't like the fact that, although at a distance and half hidden by the trees, they were still in full view of them. Roger looked the other way, where the river curved, and pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. 

"What?" Freddie asked, watching him curiously. 

"Come with me," Roger said, and took him by the hand, rounding the large rocks to get to the other side. 

Freddie resisted. "Not this again..." 

Roger stopped and turned back, a smile on his lips. 

"Not like that, I promise," he tugged at his hand gently. "Come. Please?" 

Not entirely convinced, Freddie tutted and huffed, but followed him anyway, around the river bend and into the thick of the trees until they were well and truly out of sight.  
Roger stopped and turned, stepping closer to him, still holding his hand. He felt _nervous_ all of a sudden. 

"I really wanna make it up to you," he said, and raised a finger when Freddie opened his mouth to object. "I know. I don't owe you. I know that. It's not about that."

"Then what?" Freddie said quietly, still looking at him with a slightly dubious expression, but at least he was smiling. 

"I want to," Roger said simply, leaning in to kiss Freddie's cheek, the corner of his mouth, his lips. "Trust me." He pulled back a little, a smirk on his face. "Don't make me beg, Bulsara. Although I can," he raised an eyebrow, "if you're into that." 

"Oh, my god," Freddie muttered under his breath, averting his eyes with a grin and blushing a little, again. " _Stop._ " 

"I haven't even started!" Roger chuckled, wrapping his arms around Freddie's waist. "But, yeah, do feel free to tell me to stop, because I'll probably suck at it." There was a beat. " _Wait._ " 

They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. 

"I did _not_ mean to say that!" Roger wheezed.

"Oh, my _god_ ," Freddie repeated, hiding his face in the crook of Roger's neck and snickering.

"I mean, it might be a bit rubbish, is all I'm saying. So I apologise for that. In advance." 

" _Wow_ , you're really selling it!" 

Here they were then, Roger thought, standing in a forest, hugging. And neither of them could stop laughing. 

This sure was going great. 

"I'm sorry," he tried to get a hold of himself, with moderate success. "I'm actually really nervous, can you tell?" 

Freddie lifted his head and took a deep breath, grinning as he looked at him, somewhat surprised. "Are you really?" 

The laughter was finally subsiding.

"Uhm," Roger raised his eyebrows, making a face, "I mean, yeah, I've never done it before. I've never even thought about doing it before."

For a long moment, Freddie studied him intently, his expression somewhere between concern and sympathy.

"And you're not going to," he said resolutely, gently patting Roger's chest. "Not right now." 

"Ugh," Roger rolled his eyes, mad at himself. "I've ruined the mood good and proper, I'm sorry." 

"It's not that," Freddie assured him with a shake of his head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what's the rush?"

Roger thought about it for a moment. 

"I kind of just wanna get it over with, you know," he contemplated out loud, and immediately realised how that sounded. His eyes widened. "No, but, I mean- not in a bad way!" 

" _Not in a_ -" Freddie snorted with laughter again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. At least he didn't seem offended.

"That came out wrong!" Roger groaned, running a hand down his face. 

"Nevermind," Freddie was shaking his head, still chuckling, and took a step back. "That's enough of that." 

"But..." Roger let go of him reluctantly. 

"But nothing, dear," Freddie took his hand and pulled him back in the direction they had come from, and he followed, reluctantly. 

"I've changed my mind, I'm calling it off." 

Roger stumbled and almost fell over his own feet. "What!? Are you serious??" 

So much for no questions asked, Roger thought, and lowered his eyes, trying to reign in his disappointment when Freddie stopped and turned back.  
The older man gave his hand a little squeeze. 

"Hey," he said softly, and Roger looked up again, meeting his eyes. 

"Just for today, I mean. Alright?" 

"Oh." Roger breathed a sigh of relief, although he still felt like he had fucked things up in rather spectacular fashion. "Oh, okay then," he mumbled, his eyes wandering to their joint hands. Freddie noticed and let go, which was the last thing Roger wanted. But when he looked up, Freddie did something that made everything better.

He smiled his toothy smile, warm and affectionate. "Friends first?" he reminded him.

Roger nodded, feeling rather foolish, and a little embarassed.  
They started walking back side by side, back to the riverbank, back to the rocks and the village beyond.

"Hey, I could borrow my dad's car and drive us down to Falmouth this afternoon, to the beach," Roger suggested, kicking a small rock into the water.

"Sounds lovely," Freddie agreed. 

"Clare's probably gonna want to tag along." 

"That's fine. Oh!" Freddie added excitedly, "Can we bring the Scrabble?" 

Roger laughed. "Scrabble on the _beach_?" 

"Why not?" 

"You're so weird."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

They made their way back to the road, playfully elbowing each other and laughing, especially when Freddie started singing 'I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside' again.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing this: Damn, Roger... are you okay?  
> Roger: I'M NOT GAY. I MEAN, OKAY.
> 
> Anyway, as always, all comments loved and appreciated! <3 I love chatting to you all, it makes me so happy to share my enjoyment of this story.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is not a child, nor an idiot, and refuses to be treated like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one long-ass chapter. You have been warned. 
> 
> Trivia: Roger Taylor and Josephine Morris dated (on and off) from 1968 to 1976.  
> Chrissy Mullen was her flatmate in 1968/69 and came along to a Smile gig, where she met Brian. The two started dating and married five years later.
> 
> Now, everybody, will you please look at this fantastic piece of (cover) art a lovely lady named Jade created for me? I love it A LOT!
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182093715@N08/48065201163/in/dateposted-public/)  
>   
> Her art is stunning, if you want to see more of it go to: https://instagram.com/the_clog_factory

\- - - 

Roger opened the door to his room and hung his shoulders with a frustrated groan. The duffle bag slipped off and landed by his feet with a thud. Had they really left it _this_ messy? The wardrobe was open and most of his clothes were on the unmade bed. Which definitely required a change of sheets. There was crumpled up tissue paper on the floor. Roger grimaced, remembering what _that_ was covered in. And of course then there was the usual clutter which almost permanently inhabiting his room. This situation was, in one word, _unfortunate_. Because the last thing he felt like doing was cleaning. 

Roger looked down at his bag, breathed a tortured sigh and picked it up, making his way to the washing machine in the kitchen first. 

Freddie had definitely packed too many clothes in the first place for just two nights away, he thought with a shake of his head as he pulled everything out onto the floor. Picking up one thing at a time, he gave them a quick sniff to see if any of them were still clean enough to wear. The third one which ended up in his hands was one of his favourites, a burgundy long-sleeve cotton shirt which Freddie had worn most of Sunday. Roger automatically held it up to his face and inhaled Freddie's scent with a hint of seaside breeze. He paused and blinked slowly, his mind suddenly full of Sunday afternoon sun, freezing water around his ankles and sand between his toes. 

And Freddie. 

Freddie with his trousers and sleeves rolled up, carefully dipping a pointed foot into the cold water.  
Freddie laughing as he apologised repeatedly, digging a few Scrabble tiles out of the sand. _'I told you this was a bad idea!' - 'I'm sorry, darling, I'll find them all, I promise!'_  
Freddie nodding off in the passanger seat, arms wrapped around himself and bare feet up in the corner of the dashboard. 

Roger smiled without realising it, and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the door open followed by his flatmates' voices in the living room. He flung the shirt into the washing machine like damning evidence into a fireplace and proceeded to stuff everything else inside, too. 

It wasn't long before Christian stuck his head in through the door to say hello and point him to a note on the fridge, which Roger hadn't noticed yet. 

_Roger~_

_Call Pete  
Call Brian_

_Carrie called_

The note read, in Brigitte's handwriting. Roger pulled it out from under the pineapple shaped magnet and thanked her on his way back to his room. 

It was nearing eight in the evening when he dialled Brian's number, perched on the armrest of the sofa with the telephone on his lap and his back to the TV. Christian and Brigitte had taken over the sofa with dinner plates in hand and some old Hollywood picture was playing in the background. 

The phone rang for a while and then a girl picked up, which was a bit of a surprise, given that Brian's flatmates weren't female.

"Hello?"

"Er... is Brian home?" Roger asked, scratching his forehead. 

"Just a moment," she said, and lowered the phone. "It's Roger," he heard her call, before she addressed him again: "He's coming." 

Roger thought he recognised the voice now. 

"Chrissie?"

"Oh, wow. I'm surprised you remember my name." 

The sarcasm did not escape him. "Funny," he replied curtly. 

"Not really," Chrissie said, and handed the receiver to Brian.

"Hey Rog." 

"Nice to know your girlfriend still hates me," Roger muttered, absent-mindedly picking a hole into his jeans where they had become threadbare. 

"She doesn't," Brian lowered his voice. "You know her and Jo are close." 

"Yup," Roger clicked his tongue and attempted to changed the subject, "Anyway..."

Jo was Roger's ex-girlfriend and Chrissie's flatmate. Roger had ended things with her just before Christmas to "focus on the band". It was true that the timing could have been better. And it was also true that he had perhaps focused a little too much on other girls instead even before the break up, which had escaped no one's attention. So there was that. But then in February things had started up again, as they did sometimes, and everything had actually been going quite well until the night before Valentine's Day, when Roger had suffered an accidental and very regrettable slip of the tongue and called Jo by the wrong name. During a rather intimate moment. 

He wasn't proud of it. 

"How was Cornwall?" Brian asked. 

"Yeah, nice." Roger glanced at his bare forearm. "Caught the sun a bit on the beach yesterday. The weather was glorious." 

"Lucky sod." 

"That rotter Freddie's the lucky one, he actually _tans_. I just go red. But yeah, we had a good time."

"I'm sure." 

"Sounds like you're having a good time yourself there," Roger added, smirking. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"We were doing the dishes," Brian said flatly. 

"Is that what the they call it nowadays?" 

Roger could practically hear the eyeroll, but it was a good natured one because then Brian playfully retorted:

"Sorry, are you jealous 'cause you didn't get your weekend prowl in?" 

"I don't _prowl_ ," Roger informed him, "I can't help my animal magnetism. It's a cross I have to bear." 

Brian snorted. Roger caught his flatmates casting him a peculiar look and gave them an awkward smile in return, moving off the arm rest and onto the floor. 

"Didn't realise you and Chrissie were still, you know" he said, settling down cross-legged. 

"Yeah." 

"She's not been out with us in a while, is all." There was a pause as Brian didn't reply at first and so he quickly added: "Not that it's any of my-" 

But just then, Brian spoke up at the same time. 

"Yeah, and why do you think that is?"

"What?" Roger said, before the words sank in and the penny dropped. "Oh." 

_Christ_ , girls could hold a grudge like nobody's business. 

"Wait, she didn't even come to see us at Revolution just because Jo's still mad at me?" 

"No, that was... she was at her cousin's wedding that weekend. " _Anyway-_ " 

"Yes," Roger said quickly, not entirely sure how they had gone so in depth about Brian's relationship status. "What's up?" 

"Ah, well!" Brian said excitedly. "We've got a couple of busy weekends ahead." 

"You're kidding," Roger chuckled. 

"Why?" 

"Cause I just got off the phone with Pete and he's booked us a gig in Brighton two weeks from now."

Pete was a college friend of Roger's who had, once upon a blue moon, offered to be their manager, of sorts. It was a very casual arrangement, but every now and then he came through with something good. 

"Shit, what day?" Brian asked. 

"Friday night." 

"Okay..." Brian seemed to mull it over. "That works out then. John rang and asked if we fancy playing at Scene on Saturday night, two weeks from now." 

Roger raised his eyebrows. "Oh, brilliant, yeah! Did you say yes?" 

"I did. And I've been asked if we can open for Deep Purple this Saturday at Imperial, their supporting band dropped out."

"Alright!" Roger fervently wished he could high five his friend over the phone. "I assume Tim already knows?" 

"Yeah, we spoke last night. We'll have to get at least one rehearsal in sometime between now and Saturday," Brian sighed. "I just wish it wasn't all happening during exam season."

Roger leaned his head back against the arm rest, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Yeah, well, I don't have to worry about that anymore." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm dropping out," he explained casually, "I fucking hated it anyway, didn't I. So I'm just gonna focus on the band and that's that." 

There was a silence which lasted a little too long for comfort. 

"Are you..." Brian started. 

"Ask me if I'm sure and I'll hang up on you," Roger warned him. 

"Are you free Thursday night?" Brian asked, and Roger knew full well that it wasn't what he was going to ask originally. "I should be able to get a rehearsal space by then." 

"Yeah. Do you have any exams on Wednesday?" 

"No, why?" 

Roger grinned. "Let's go for a pint tomorrow afternoon. Band meeting." 

Brian 'umm'ed and 'ahh'ed, citing all the course work he had to do, but eventually agreed to come for a quick one.  
After he had hung up the phone, Roger returned to his room and reluctantly started putting his clothes away. He came across the note from the fridge, which he had tossed onto the bed carelessly earlier, and looked at the last item on it for a long moment. 

_Carrie called_

The thoughtful frown on his face disappeared as he crumpled the note up, tossing it into the corner. 

\- - - 

Freddie had never been in this situation before, and it was bizarre, to say the least. 

Whenever he had been _this_ interested in someone in the past-

No. 

Whenever he had been _this_ interested in a _boy_ in the past-

No. 

Freddie had never been _this_ interested in a _boy_ in the past, _and_ been able to act on it, _but_ chosen not to. 

It had been late, very late, when they had snuck back into Roger's family home on Sunday night, back from the pool hall where Roger had taken him after their trip to the beach. 

"Oh look... 's jus' gone midnight," Roger had said - or rather slurred quietly - eyes half-hooded and moving in closer, fingers brushing Freddie's arm, his hip, taking a hold of his waist. "So _tech_ nically 's already tomorrow..." 

And Freddie had realised that he'd also had too much to drink when he had found himself on the mattress on the floor not two minutes later, with Roger on top of him, a winning smirk on his lips before he kissed him as if their very lives depended on it. But even though Freddie's head had spun and even though the weight of Roger's body on top of him had surely been all that had prevented him from blissfully floating away into the night sky, he had somehow found the presence of mind and the determination to gently push the other man off him, sitting up and putting some distance between them. Truly, it had been a herculean effort on his part, especially when Roger had looked so fucking _disappointed_. 

"You're drunk." 

"Not _that_ drunk," There had been a frown, almost a pout, on the younger man's face. "And wha's that gotta do with anything?" 

It had everything to do with everything, Freddie had thought, as he had leaned forward, on his hands and knees, and pressed a placating kiss to Roger's cheek. 

"It's still today," he had murmured, gently and a little apologetically, nipping whatever _might_ have happened that night in the bud. 

That night he had proceeded to lie awake for what felt like hours, listening to Roger's quiet snores. 

Much as Roger had insisted that his heated words had meant nothing, Freddie wasn't convinced. They hadn't come out of nowhere. Evidently, Roger had never even considered the possibility of being intimate with another man, until now. 

But Freddie had. He was no stranger to these wayward thoughts, and he was oh so familiar with the shame and guilt that came with them. He was familiar with the consequences of being found out, too. And none of it was something he would wish on anyone else, least of all his best friend. 

And who was to say that, carrying on like this, they wouldn't soon cross a line which made Roger unequivocally realise that he neither enjoyed nor wanted any part of this? If that happened, Freddie knew he could kiss their friendship goodbye. 

These thoughts plagued him well into Monday evening, when he had returned home. He had managed to get a turn in the shower before the hot water had run out and now stood with his head bowed, water raining down on his shoulders, feeling tired of thinking and very conflicted. 

Because the truth was that he _wanted_ to carry on. 

Desperately.

And all of his concerns aside, that feeling wasn't going anywhere. It tore at his very soul, it burned and it demanded satisfaction. His head was so full of _Roger_ that he could barely close his eyes without seeing his face, and not just that. Memory and imagination melded into one, providing him with images which were altogether too tempting. Sex was a strange thing. He knew he had gone a long while barely thinking about it, really. Before all this. But now those thoughts were ever-present to the point of distraction. It was as if now that he'd had a taste of something so delicious, all he wanted was more.  
Freddie ran his hands over his face, his neck, his shoulders, and slicked his hair back with one hand while the other slid over his stomach and further down. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, biting down on his lip, hard in his hand at the thought of Roger's lips around his dick and frightfully ashamed of himself at the same time. But not enough to stop. 

The hot water was running out, but he barely noticed, cheeks flushed and drawing uneven, shallow breaths as he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasy.

And then someone hammered on the door, clearly having decided his turn in the bathroom was up. 

Oh, _for fuck's sake._

Freddie opened his eyes with a miserable groan and banged the back of his head against the tiled wall in frustration.

"Alright, just a _minute_!" 

So much for that, he thought, and turned the faucet until the water ran freezing cold. 

\- - - 

"Well, you can fuck right off, the both of you," Roger grumbled, glowering at his friends and band mates from across the table. Brian raised his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Tim, which only served to annoy Roger more. "So I'm the only one who actually _believes_ in us then, yeah?" 

"That's not what I said," Tim protested. "The band hasn't got anything to do with it." 

"The band has everything to do with it!" Roger argued, in complete disbelief that this wasn't obvious to them. "I don't need a backup plan because we're gonna fucking make it! _That's_ the plan. That's the _only_ plan. I don't see anyone going around asking doctors, lawyers and, fuck, I don't know... _astrophysicists_ ," he narrowed his eyes at Brian, "what their back up plan is just in case their _actual job_ doesn't work out."

"Oh, come on," Brian gave him an exasperated look, "There's a difference, Rog. You have to admit that." 

"No, I disagree." Roger said stubbornly, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. "I don't know about you, but I'm a professional musician. It's what I want to do. It's _all_ I want to do."

"Yeah, right now," Tim shrugged, gesturing with his drink in hand, "But what about when you're... _fifty_? You're not gonna be playing in a rock n' roll band _then_ , are you?" 

Roger snorted with a frown. "Shit, you're talking about the year _two thousand_. Let's face it, it'll probably be nuclear winter by then and we'll all be dead anyway." 

"Such faith in humanity," Brian scoffed. 

"To be fair, dear, humans are a barbaric species," Freddie piped up from behind his glass, leaning back in his chair as he kept carefully away from the heated discussion surrounding Roger's decision to quit college. "We're awful, the lot of us." 

"Exactly," Roger finished lighting his cigarette and leaned back as well, unintentionally mirroring Freddie's body language. "Who says the Soviets won't drop a nuke on America next week and kick off global war?" 

Roger raised his eyebrows, looking around his group of friends, who all nodded or shrugged. At least nobody was arguing with that, depressing as it was. 

"So," he said firmly, pointing with his cigarette, "excuse me if I'm choosing to live precisely the life I _want_ , today, while I still can." 

"I'll drink to that," said Freddie, and Roger turned to look at him, exceedingly pleased with the support from at least _one_ of his friends.

"Cheers, Fred," he smiled as they clinked glasses. 

"Cheers, darling." 

"You're encouraging him," Tim said, raising an eyebrow at Freddie. "But you're about to graduate. With a degree." 

Freddie rolled his eyes and his wrist simultaneously, a small smile on his lips. "Yes, in _arts_ , darling. Such a stable, lucrative profession." 

Tim chuckled, very much in the same boat. "Yeah, fair enough."

"Looks like Brian's the only one who has a future," Freddie observed, sighing dramatically, and met Roger's eyes. "Might as well go straight to the poor house."

Roger laughed out loud at the inside joke and reached over to tousle his hair. "At least you'll fit right in!" 

"No-! You bastard!" Freddie gasped and slapped his hand away, which only made Roger put down his cigarette in order to try harder until the whole thing escalated into a ridiculous wrist-slap-fight of sorts.

Tim clapped his hands sharply, feigning parental anger. "Oi. _Children_ , please. Freddie!"

"He started it!" Freddie protested, pointing to Roger, who promptly took the opportunity to get a final hair ruffle in.

" _Roger_ , you fucker, I _swear_ -!"

"Gee, I wonder why I'm the only one with a future," Brian said, watching them with a raised eyebrow and a small smile, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Tim patted his shoulder and stood up, heading for the toilets.

"Oh, alright, come here," Roger chuckled and reached out his hand, pausing when Freddie flinched away. " _Relax_ , I'm gonna fix it."

Freddie stilled, allowing him to run his hand through his hair, carefully brushing it back into shape with his fingers. "There," he said, their eyes lingering on each other for a moment too long. Roger grinned. "I don't know _what_ takes you so long in the morning."

Freddie tutted and returned the grin, before turning to look at his reflection in the window. Roger watched him tuck a few dark locks away before he slowly turned back to the table, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray with a warm smile still lingering on his lips. As he lifted his eyes he realised Brian was looking at him in a slightly peculiar way, head tilted to one side. Studying him, almost. 

"What?" Roger asked, lifting his eyebrows. 

"Nothing." The curly-haired guitarist shook his head, as though dismissing a ridiculous thought, and looked away. 

\- - - 

As per the terms of him coming out for a quick one only, Brian did not stay very long, and Tim decided he had better be going, too. This wasn't unsual, because Tim and Brian were closer friends than Roger was with either of them. They had known each other and played in a band together for a long time, for one, and sometimes Roger still felt a little bit like the outsider. 

"I swear they treat me like a child sometimes," Roger told Freddie, and put another port and lemon down in front of him before he sat back down with his fourth pint of the night. "Just cause I'm a couple years younger." 

Freddie looked at the glass, raising an eyebrow. "Roger, why did you get me another one? I told you not to." 

"I think what you mean is, thank you," Roger replied with a cheeky smile. "And, you're welcome." 

He winked and took a large gulp from his own glass. Freddie was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

"Are you perhaps trying to get me drunk?" 

Roger shrugged, still smiling. 

Freddie sighed and smiled back weakly. "Is that really a good idea...?"

"Well, I don't know anymore," Roger lowered his eyes, drumming his fingers on the table lightly. "You tell me." 

Things had been left rather up in the air between them, Roger felt, when Freddie had stuck to his guns on Sunday night as far as calling things off was concerned. Then on Monday, there hadn't exactly been an opportunity to find out if things were back _on_. They had spent most of the day on a crowded train, and for the first half of the journey Roger had been the worse for wear, suffering from a mild but persistent hangover. And now, the silence following what he had just said was far too uncomfortably long for him. Roger's heart sank. 

"Talk to me, Freddie," he added and forced himself to look up. 

Freddie's dark eyes looked sad. 

_Shit._

Roger swallowed, trying to brace himself for rejection. To think that all afternoon he had believed that everything would be back to the way things had been just before the weekend, as soon as they had a moment alone.  
Clearly he had been wrong. 

"I..." Freddie averted his eyes and picked up his drink. "I just don't know."

"What don't you know?" 

"I don't know if it's a good idea to... to keep doing this," Freddie said quietly, and the words pierced Roger's heart in a way he hadn't expected them to. He bit his tongue, waiting for an explanation. He _needed_ an explanation, at the very least.

"I don't want you to do something you'll come to regret," Freddie said slowly, and lifted the glass to his lips. "I'm afraid you already have." 

Roger narrowed his eyes at him. "What? Why would I... Wait, do _you_ regret anything that's happened?" 

Freddie shook his head, biting his lips and still not looking at him.

"Do you think you're _going_ to regret it eventually?" Roger asked, turning sideways in his chair and leaning one arm onto the backrest to better face him. 

At last, Freddie met his eyes again. "No," he said, softly but emphatically. "Never." 

"So explain to me," Roger demanded, "why you would think that I will? And also," he continued, not giving Freddie a chance to reply. "what do you _mean_ you don't want me to do something I'll regret? Sorry, but I think that's for me to decide. I can take responsibility for my own actions, you know. Don't fucking try to _protect_ me from... from doing something _you_ think I don't want to do? Like I don't know what I'm doing? Did you even listen to a single word I just said cause now you're the one who's treating me like I'm a fucking child!" He turned back to the table with a huff and shook the last cigarette out of his pack. "Can everybody stop acting like I can't be trusted with my own fucking decisions! I'm not an imbecile! _Jesus_!"

Freddie blinked, taken aback.  
The people sitting closest to them turned to look at him. 

"You heard me!" Roger snapped, glaring back at them as he lit the cigarette. "Now mind your own bloody business."

He felt a warm hand come to rest on his thigh under the table and turned to look at Freddie, still considerably cross. 

"I'm sorry," said Freddie, and he looked it, too. "I was just..." 

"You were just busy assuming that you know what's best for me and I don't. Just like everyone else." 

Freddie pulled his hand back and said nothing. 

Roger slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. 

"Listen," he lowered his voice, just in case those nosey bastards at the adjacent tables were still trying to eavesdrop. "You asked me what I want." He leaned closer to Freddie, holding his gaze. "I _know_ what I want, Fred. I'm _sure_. And there's no regrets. Not on my part, anyway. So don't give me any of that crap. Now-" He took a drag from his cigarette. "What about you?" Roger leaned back, exhaling smoke. "What do you want? Cause I don't think I ever asked." 

Freddie looked at him for a long moment with a thoughtful expression. Then he picked up his glass, taking a long sip and hiding the smile which was tugging at his lips behind it, a twinkle in his dark eyes. 

Roger grinned with relief, because he knew that look. Or hoped he did. "Cat got your tongue?" 

"There's a lot of things I want, dear," Freddie finally replied, and leaned forward, stealing the cigarette out of his hand and taking a drag. 

"Do any of them involve me?" Roger asked, raising his eyebrow as he watched the smoke stream out from between Freddie's parted lips.

As he watched Freddie's lips. 

"All of them," Freddie replied, and proceeded to knock back half of his drink in one go. Roger's eyes were fixed on his Adam's apple, bobbing up and down, his heart beating faster in his chest and desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

"Come back to mine," he heard himself say. It wasn't quite a question. 

Freddie set down his glass and arched an eyebrow at him. "It's a school night." 

"Live a little," Roger teased with a smirk, and took his cigarette back, brushing Freddie's hand with his fingers in the process. An almost unnoticeable caress. 

"I didn't say no," Freddie pointed out in a low voice.

\- - - 

Freddie's fur jacket hit the floor as they stumbled across the room, entangled in each other and heading in the vague direction of the bed. 

"Don't you think your flatmates... might find it a bit... strange if I stay over?" Fred's voice was breathy, his words interrupted by soft gasps as Roger licked and bit at his neck.

"Don't know," Roger murmured between kisses, kicking off his shoes in the process, "don't care." 

Said flatmates were in the living room, and Roger made a mental note to put some music on. 

In a minute. 

He pulled away briefly to strip off his shirt, before cupping the back of Freddie's neck and hungrily pulling him down to claim his lips with his own, his other hand squeezing Freddie's arse through impossibly tight satin trousers. It was a little awkward because, now shoeless, he was much shorter than Freddie was in his platform boots.  
When the other man let go of him to unbutton his shirt, Roger lost his balance and very nearly fell over backwards, pulling Freddie with him. 

"Christ, take those damn shoes off already, will you," Roger chuckled, and pushed Freddie down onto the bed. 

Shirt half-unbottoned and a suggestive smile on his face, Freddie leaned back on his hands and tilted his head, looking him up and down appraisingly. Roger raised an eyebrow and unbuckled his belt with a smirk, then proceeded to rid himself of his trousers and socks while Freddie finished unbuttoning his shirt and threw it aside.

Maybe it was the fact that they had come so close to ending it, Roger didn't know, but there seemed to be an electric intensity in every move tonight. Every kiss. Every look. All he knew was that, right now, it felt as though he wanted the dark-haired man sitting on his bed more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life. Roger approached the bed and Freddie's hands came up to his hips, fingertips caressing the skin at the edge of his briefs. Holding his gaze, Freddie leaned forward and opened his mouth, pressing it against his dick through his underwear. Roger moaned. It was stupidly erotic, he could feel Freddie's warm breath on him, his tongue _right there_ if it weren't for the thin fabric barrier. Freddie hummed and closed his eyes, moving up and down the length of his dick. Roger wanted to tear his underwear off and thrust into his hot mouth. His fingers tangled in Freddie's hair and he pulled him back, catching his eye again. _Fuck_ , the look on his face was enough to drive him wild. Expectant, unbridled desire. Roger climbed onto his lap and kissed him, grinding against him, tugging at a firstful of hair.  
Freddie whimpered against his lips, his hands all over him, squeezing his arse, nails grazing his back. Oh _Jesus_. Freddie's lips left his and found his neck, one of his hands on his arse inside his briefs.

"Music," Roger remembered, after a while. 

"Huh?" 

Freddie reluctantly released him when he pulled back and got to his feet, crossing over to the record player to put on an LP. Roger heard the heavy platform boots hit the floor a few seconds later and smiled to himself. Fred did look good in them though, he had to admit. Without really looking, Roger picked up the closest album to hand and removed it from its sleeve, carefully placing it down on the turntable. It happened to be the record Freddie had lent him, Hendrix's 'Electric Ladyland'.  
Freddie came up behind him as Roger was about to place the needle down, one arm wrapping around his middle and the other brushing his hair away, lips grazing the back of his neck. Roger shivered and accidentally dropped the needle halfway into the second track. 

_...waits for you and me_  
_So it's time we take a ride_  
_We can cast all your hang-ups over the side_  
_While we fly right over the love-filled sea_

Freddie's hand slid over Roger's stomach and past the waistband of his briefs, long fingers wrapping around him, caressing and teasing him slowly. Roger leaned back against the other man with a guttural moan, eyes falling shut as one of his hands came up to Freddie's face and he turned his head sideways, blindly searching for the other's lips. 

_Look up ahead, I see the loveland_  
_Soon you'll understand_  
_Yeah, yeah, yeah..._

Freddie kissed him, softly and deeply, his hand stroking him at an almost leisurely pace, hips grinding against him from behind. Roger's knees felt as though they might give in at any moment. The feeling of Freddie's hard dick pressed up against his arse was new and a little strange and surprisingly exciting. 

_Make love, make love, make love, make love..._

But once again, Fred seemed to be taking over and Roger was determined not to let that happen tonight. He had other plans, reluctant as he was to lose the wonderful sensation of Freddie's caresses.  
Roger pulled out of the embrace and turned around, running his fingers from Freddie's neck down to the waistband of his trousers, following the movement with his gaze before his eyes snapped up to the other's face. Freddie shivered, lips parted and cheeks flushed, and let himself be pushed back until his legs hit the bed. Roger grabbed him by the waistband before he could sit down and kissed him while he undid the front of his trousers. Then, he broke the kiss and leaned back with a mischievous smile,. 

"Take them off," he said, firmly but playfully, looking into the other man's eyes. "Take everything off." 

Freddie raised an eyebrow, a little surprised at his commanding tone, but obeyed without hesitation and proceeded to peel off his remaining clothes. Roger watched him, biting his lower lip as his eyes curiously roamed Freddie's body. He wasn't yet used to seeing him naked, especially in the light, which he now noticed had remained on. Roger met Freddie's eyes again once he had finished undressing and took a step forward, bringing them as close as they could be without touching. And interestingly enough, Freddie was making no attempt to touch him now. Because he was, perhaps subconsciously, awaiting the next instruction, Roger realised. Prickles of excitement ran down his spine. 

"Shall I turn the light off?" he asked. 

"If you want," Freddie replied. 

Roger shook his head. The smirk was back on his face. 

"No, I like it." 

He put his arms around Freddie, hands sliding straight down to his arse, and pressed himself against his naked body. Freddie's breath was shallow and uneven against his ear as he kissed his neck, fingers stroking and squeezing his backside. Fred had an excellent arse, it had to be said, and when Roger pulled back from his neck he couldn't resist giving it smack. Freddie jolted against him with a surprised little gasp. Taking advantage of his parted lips, Roger dove in and kissed him, messy and fast.

"Now," he said, pulling away. "sit down."

Freddie sat, gazing up at him. His breath hitched when Roger lowered himself down, placing a hand on each of his knees and pushing them apart far enough to comfortably kneel between his legs. Roger grinned, watching him lean back on his hands. Freddie looked positively weak with anticipation. 

Alright then, he thought.  
Here goes. 

Roger turned his attention to the task at hand and wrapped his fingers around Freddie's dick, stroking him slowly. Jesus. Well, he wasn't trying to _compare_ because that was just fucking weird, but up close like this it was hard not to notice the _size_. It was lucky Roger had no hang ups about his own anatomy, he thought, a little amused.  
Right, so now what? 

Trying to recall everything he knew about getting head, Roger leaned down and experimentally swirled his tongue around the tip, eliciting a quiet whimper. 

So far so good. 

He lapped at it again a few times, and then ran his tongue from the base all the way to the tip before closing his lips around it. Freddie responded with a needy noise that went straight to Roger's groin. He lowered himself down and pulled back up, hollowing his cheeks out around him. 

"Oh god, _oh god_..." Freddie whimpered when he repeated it again and again, slowly increasing in pace, then paused to tease the head with his tongue. "Oh my god, Roger, _fuck_ -" 

Freddie threw his head back for a moment, moaning so desperately and delightfully that it made Roger moan in return. Holy shit, but this was actually fucking _fun_. Except his jaw was already starting to get tired and Roger felt like he was gaining a whole new level of appreciation for anyone who had ever given him head. Turned out the difficult part wasn't _how_ , but how _long_.

\- - -

While Roger didn't know it, he certainly wasn't in for the long haul. Freddie's thighs were trembling, his knuckles white as he clung to the sheets, trying and failing to keep his eyes open because he genuinely didn't want to miss the _sight_. The sheer sight of his dick disappearing into Roger's mouth, which alone was driving him to the edge of sanity.  
He had no idea how this had even happened. He was _sure_ that he had left class this afternoon with a heavy heart, his mind all but made up that he had to be the one to call it off, for good. Because they were making a mistake. Because Roger was going to regret it all sooner or later. Because he didn't want to be hated by the person he cared for the most, down the line. 

But a few charged looks and suggestive smiles from Roger, and one too many quickly, too quickly downed drinks later, here he was. Regretting nothing.

In this very moment, Freddie couldn't think of one single damn reason why he had _ever_ thought this wasn't a good idea. Fuck, if this was wrong, he never wanted to be right again. There were words coming out of his mouth, but he was barely aware of them. Swears and pleas and Roger's name. Roger, who looked so fucking smug when he pulled off for a moment, glancing up at him from beneath his long lashes while he tossed him off hard and fast, licking at the head of his dick as he did so. 

"Oh fuck, oh please-" Freddie whined, not recognising his own voice, and dropped down onto his elbows as his wrists where no longer willing to support him. "Oh _shit_ -" 

His head rolled back as he felt the slick, wet heat of Roger's mouth around him again and that was it. He fell over the edge with a series of loud moans, hips lifting off the bed, beyond his control. His entire body was on fire and for a long few moments nothing existed but visceral, all-consuming ecstasy. 

Freddie blinked his eyes open and found himself flat on his back, breathing heavily. He felt Roger climb up onto the bed next to him and smiled dopily when his blond head came into view. Roger raised his eyebrows and grimaced a little, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. That was when Freddie was hit by a horrid realisation. 

"Oh- oh no," he stammered, wide-eyed, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-" 

"Yeah," Roger smacked his lips and chuckled, "Not sure I was quite ready for that then."

"I'm _so sorry_ ," Freddie clapped a hand over his mouth, absolutely mortified. 

"It's okay," Roger shrugged with a smile and licked his lips, "Not as bad as I thought." He contemplated this for a moment. "Not that great, mind. An acquired taste." 

"Oh god," Freddie hid his face behind his hands, quietly dying of embarrassment, while Roger rolled over and took a few sips from the glass of water on his bedside table. 

"Hey." 

Freddie lowered his hands a little, looking up into Roger's brilliant blue eyes, dark blond hair hanging down around his face. 

"Don't worry," Roger said softly, and leaned down to kiss him when Freddie moved his hands out of the way. "That was fun." 

"Oh, it was more than that," Freddie murmured against his lips, lifting a hand to Roger's face. "Thank you," he whispered between kisses. "Thank you..."

"My pleasure," Roger smiled and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Freddie's for a moment, his fingers gently stroking his cheek, brushing away stray strands of dark hair. "But-" He pulled back and made a face. "I think I'm gonna have to move now." 

"What? Why?" 

Roger raised his eyebrows, looking at him pointedly. 

"You know the walls aren't sound proof, right?" 

"Oh," Freddie blinked. Shit. Had he really been that loud? "Do you think your flatmates heard...?" 

Roger snorted. "Fred, I think the _neighbours_ heard."

"Fuck," Freddie could feel himself blushing. "You see, this is what happens when you try to get me drunk," he hissed quietly. 

Roger burst out laughing and kissed the tip of his nose. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do you really think they heard?" Freddie asked, concerned, lifting himself up and catching Roger by the arm when the younger man went to get up. 

"I don't know," Roger shrugged and shook his head. "I'm not gonna worry about it, they don't know any of our friends." 

"Alright," Freddie nodded, biting his lip. 

He watched Roger climb off the bed and go to flip the record over, placing the needle back down.

"Well, I'll never listen to _that_ album the same way again," Freddie sighed. 

Roger chuckled and winked at him over his shoulder, turning the volume down a little. It was getting late. 

"Well, I mean, there's a whole B-side left..." he smirked as he returned to the bed and stopped in front of Freddie, one hand reaching out to stroke his cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips. Freddie felt his heartbeat quicken and leaned into the caress almost involuntarily. 

"Yes, there is," he raised a suggestive eyebrow, holding Roger's gaze while he grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer. 

"So what shall we do about that?" 

"What, indeed..."

Roger's briefs soon joined their discarded clothes on the floor.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... *adds 'light bdsm' to tags with future chapters in mind*
> 
> Thoughts? Don't hesitate to talk to me in the comments! 
> 
> Thank you, THANK YOU, for all the kudos and appreciation!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks in the life of Freddie Bulsara and Roger Taylor. OR: This crazy little thing called love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Sorry, this took a while. Mostly because I'm very busy with work at the moment, but also because I accidentally wrote 10.000 words and then couldn't work out how to puzzle it all together and divide it up into two chapters. So this is part one, sort of. 
> 
> A note on this chapter: As I'm writing this, I find it important to keep in mind that now, we are pretty much over-saturated with porn and sex, mostly thanks to the Internet, and I feel like back then, there certainly would have been a lot less exposure to it. So there's an innocence here which I think doesn't exist in the same way nowadays. 
> 
> And that's it, enjoy! By the way, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS! I've loved reading every single one. I've had such a great response to the last chapter especially, I'm absolutely delighted and love discussing it all with you so much.

\- - - 

Sitting on the floor at a mate's house at four in the morning and watching your completely shit-faced best friend devour a sandwich was a strange time to realise that you were hopelessly, unequivocally and desperately in love with him, Freddie thought. 

But then again, if he was honest with himself - and he was just drunk enough to allow himself such folly - he had known this for some time. 

His heart felt dangerously full. 

So much so that it hurt, so much that he thought it might burst. And then, surely, the words would flow from his lips like a torrent, beyond his control. 

Maybe this was his chance, Freddie thought with wild abandon. His one chance to say it, without suffering the consequences. Roger might not even remember, in the morning. And if he did, Freddie could blame it on the alcohol and deny everything. 

It was a plan. A fucking terrible plan. 

But at least, that way, he would have said it. 

Out loud. 

Just the once. 

\- - - 

_Two weeks earlier..._

"This might sound weird..." Freddie said with a grin, lying on his back with one arm tucked underneath his head and the other around Roger, who lay on his side, one leg draped over him.

"Unlike everything else that comes out of your mouth," Roger quipped sarcastically, sticking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth when Freddie gave him an affronted look.

"Piss off then, I won't tell you," Freddie pouted, and turned his head away when Roger tried to lean in for a kiss.

"Aww, go on," Roger kissed him on the cheek instead, nuzzling against him. "Tell me. I love weird."

Freddie softened, pulling his top lip over his teeth as the grin returned.

"Tell me," Roger repeated, his fingers trailing over Freddie's chest and playing with his chest hair. A few moments of silence followed. The record had just finished and was spinning quietly on the turntable.

"I didn't really know..." Freddie said in a low voice, running his fingertips over his lips absently as he spoke, eyes fixed on a corner of the room. "I didn't know it could be, uhm... _this_ much fun."

He paused to bite his thumb nail, smiling to himself, and Roger frowned a little, not sure he was following.

"What?"

Freddie glanced over at him.

"Sex," he said in a near whisper. 

"Oh..." Roger's eyebrows shot up, before his expression turned into what could only be described as the most exceedingly smug, shit-eating grin Freddie had ever seen on him. "Oh _really_?"

Freddie rolled his eyes, still grinning.

"I mean, I know I'm a great lay..." Roger wrapped his arms around him, pulling himself half on top of him.

"Fuck's sake," Freddie covered his face with one hand, giggling as Roger proceeded to kiss his way up the side of his neck.

"Do I... rock your world?" Roger purred.

Freddie groaned. "I regret everything."

"Do I _blow_ your mind?" Roger murmured against Freddie's ear in an over-the-top salacious voice, just barely managing not to laugh.

Freddie snorted. "You're such a twat, Roger. Ruin a moment, why don't you."

"You love it," Roger sucked on his earlobe and Freddie whimpered quietly despite himself. The younger man hummed contentedly and lifted his head, kissing him on the lips. Then he pulled away and chuckled to himself. Freddie raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"It's just funny, because..." he shrugged and rolled off Freddie and onto his back, settling in next to him, their legs tangled under the duvet and their hands joined, resting on top of Freddie's stomach.

"It's not like we're even... I mean, I _guess_ this is sex, you know, but, um."

"What-" Freddie laughed, "How is it _not_ -"

"No, I mean... hmm." Roger suddenly felt caught out and pursed his lips, wondering how to put it. "It _is_ , but we're not... depends how you define... I mean..." Christ, did Freddie really not know what he was on about? Blowjobs and handjobs were one thing, _shagging_ was another. Roger chewed his lip for a moment. "I mean, it's not _sex_ sex. You know?"

There was a long pause and Roger was starting to feel extremely embarrassed about everything that had just come out of his mouth.

" _Oh_ ," Freddie finally said.

"Yeah."

A nervous flutter in his chest, Roger glanced over at him and waited for him to say something else. _Anything_ else. He had so many questions, and he didn't even dare begin to formulate them. But Freddie just stared up at the ceiling in complete unreadable silence, and so Roger did the same.

Until he just couldn't bear it any longer.

"I mean," he cleared his throat, "I-I don't suppose _that's_ something you've... ever..."

"Of course not, darling!" Freddie spoke over him quickly, not waiting to hear the specifics of his question. His words were punctuated with a sharp, nervous laugh, as though he wanted to say 'Goodness, what do you think of me?'

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Roger laughed in the same stupidly nervous way, squeezing Freddie's hand and slowly moving his knee up to lift the duvet off his crotch a little.

Because all he could really think about was the fact that he was suddenly and unexpectedly hard again. Very much so. And for once, he didn't want Freddie to notice.

\- - - 

It was a rainy Friday morning when Freddie snuck back into Roger's room, holding the spoon he had gone to fetch and cringing slightly.

"Whut?" Roger asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his mouth full of cereal.

"I don't know," Freddie chewed his lip, a worried look on his face, "I ran into your flatmate."

Roger paused, lowered his bowl, and shrugged. "Don't matter," he swallowed the rest of his mouthful before continuing. "Pretty sure they were asleep when we got back last night, for all they know you just got here half an hour ago."

"It's half past eight in the morning."

"So what?"

"I'm not wearing shoes."

"So you took them _off_. Christ, Freddie, you're overthinking this."

Freddie shook his head, an unpleasant feeling of apprehension in his gut. Perhaps he _was_ just being paranoid?

"I don't know, she gave me a _look_..."

Roger rolled his eyes and patted the spot next to him on the carpet, inviting Freddie to come and have breakfast already.

"I'm sure she didn't, she's just _French_." 

Freddie hesitantly made his way over, sitting down next to him and reaching for his own bowl. 

"Maybe it would be better if I didn't come over so often," he said regretfully, lifting a spoonful of soggy cereal to his mouth.

Roger turned to him with a look of pure indignation. 

"Nuh- _uh_! I pay rent. Are you telling me I can't have friends over? My room, my business. Besides, have you got any idea how many girls I..." he stopped short of finishing that sentence, and quickly lowered his eyes to his breakfast bowl.

Freddie raised an eyebrow, a thin smile on his lips which failed to reach the eyes.

"No, darling, I've no idea at all," he said lightly, jokingly, trying not to dwell on the ease and frequency with which he knew Roger to change partners. " _Dozens_ , I'm sure."

"Not that many," Roger quietly mumbled through a mouthful of cereal, uncharacteristically failing to play up to his sexual prowess. 

Freddie said nothing, but the smile on his face grew a little warmer.

\- - - 

A mild wind was blowing through the trees. Roger watched it tear at the leaves above him, the ground cool beneath him and intermittent rays of sunshine warming his face. He turned his head to look at Freddie, who was sitting against the trunk of the tree, his sketchbook on his knees and the end of his pencil between his teeth. Poring over the page in front of him in concentration. Freddie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree, his expression relaxing into serenity.

"I like Sundays," he mused, taking the pencil out of his mouth and breathing the spring air in deeply, "Shame they're inevitably followed by Mondays." 

Roger took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled. "I wouldn't know. They're all just regular days to me now."

It was true. With college off the table, he had spent much of the week at their stall, lazing in the park just like this when the weather had been nice and he had fancied a break. Of course, he much preferred lazing in the park with Freddie on weekends, but still.

"Yes, well... it's alright for _some_ ," Freddie tutted with a small smile and opened his eyes to look at him, "Oh, by the way, dear, I've been meaning to ask. How did your parents take it?"

Roger silently held his gaze for a few moments and then looked away, taking another drag. 

"You've told them, haven't you?"

Roger slowly breathed out smoke and pursed his lips, watching the fast-moving clouds beyond the tree. 

"Roger."

He could feel Freddie's eyes boring into him.

"Have you not told your parents?"

Roger sighed.

"Are you _planning_ on telling them?" Freddie asked.

"It's only been a week," Roger pointed out.

"Yes, but-"

"I'll tell them next time I go home," he said, his eyes fixed on a flock of birds in the sky.

"Won't that be _weeks_ from now?" Freddie sounded a little incredulous. In some ways - Roger was amused to realise - Freddie was so straight-laced it was comical. Considering all the other ways in which he was not.

"Probably. I mean, what are they gonna do?" he snorted, "Ground me? Kick me out? Bit late for that."

"So, then..." Freddie frowned, head tilted back, looking down his nose at him in contemplation. "Why wait until-"

"Be _cause_ , Fred," Roger snapped, cutting him off. He suddenly felt quite cross with him for not just leaving it well alone when it was clearly none of his bloody business. "I don't want them to fight about it while I'm not there. _Alright_?"

The flock of birds disbanded as a cloud moved in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the park.

"I'm sorry, darling." Freddie said carefully, after a moment. "I didn't mean to pry."

Roger sighed, stubbed out his cigarette in the grass and looked over at him. But the older man had already returned his attention to his sketchbook, his face half-hidden behind it.

Much later that day, when the sun had long set and the next day was but minutes away, Roger lay on his front, arms folded under his head, watching the door. It opened and Freddie returned quietly, closing it behind him and leaving his toothbrush on the night stand before he climbed over him. For reasons neither discussed nor known, the wall side was now Freddie's and the edge of the bed was Roger's, and neither of them had any qualms with that.  
Freddie settled in beside him under the duvet and Roger felt a warm hand between his shoulder blades, fingers lightly stroking his bare skin. He sighed, relaxing into the touch. Freddie's hand travelled up and down his back, along his spine. Then it came to a halt halfway down, a little to the right, drawing a circle. No, not quite a circle, Roger thought absently.  
It took him a moment to realise what Freddie's fingers were tracing. 

"Is it still there?" he asked, mumbling the words into his arm, his eyes half-hooded and unfocused.

"Just a shadow," Freddie whispered, covering the spot with his whole palm. Warm, gentle and safe. "Does it still hurt?"

"No."

It didn't. And yet, that felt like a lie.

He reached over to the nightstand and switched off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

"G'night," Roger murmured, and closed his eyes.

Freddie wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into an embrace with an implicitness that made his heart ache. So much so that he wanted to pull away, for a moment. But he allowed it. Allowed himself to be pulled close to the other's chest and held, just as he had _that_ night, in Truro. Only that night, he had been far too upset to stop and think, really think about what this was.  
This _something_ which had grown and blossomed between them, binding them together and tethering his heart without his permission. Because _this_ had nothing to do with sex, and it went further than friendship. 

"Good night, dear," Freddie whispered as he pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

And Roger prayed that sleep would overtake him before he could think any more.

\- - - 

"Fucking hell, Roger, you need to do a load of washing!" Freddie grumbled, digging through his friend's wardrobe. "There's not a single clean shirt in here!"

"Sleep shirtless," Roger replied from the other side of the room, not fazed by his plight.

"It gets _chilly_ ," Freddie complained.

"Sissy."

Freddie turned back over his shoulder and glared, flipping him off.

Roger grinned.

"Or you could bring your own damn t-shirt," he said, leaning out of the window to exhale a plume of smoke. "How 'bout that?"

"I wasn't bloody well planning on staying over tonight, was I," Freddie reminded him, giving him an accusatory look.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're so _easy_ ," Roger winked, a downright filthy smirk on his face, and Freddie hated himself a little for the way it made his spine tingle and his cheeks flush with heat. He said nothing and turned back to the wardrobe, reaching up to check the top shelf.

"No, don't-" he heard Roger say, but just then something cool and metallic slipped through Freddie's fingers and fell to the floor with a clang, almost hitting him on the head on its way down.

"What the..." Freddie had ducked instinctively and straightened up again, looking around by his feet, before he spotted what had fallen and stopped in his tracks.

"Ah." Roger said, while Freddie bent down and slowly picked a pair of handcuffs up off the floor. "So... about that."

Freddie dangled them in front of his face, mildly shocked and wildly curious.

"Oh my god, are these _real_?" Was the first thing that came out of his mouth. They looked real. Not that he'd ever seen real handcuffs up close before.

Roger was holding his cigarette close to his face, biting his lip as he watched him through the smoke. "Yes."

A small key hung from the chain, attached by a red silk ribbon, the latter for some reason being the thing which stood out the most. Because without it, they were just a pair of handcuffs. But with it, there seemed to be certain _implications_ as to their purpose.

"So, my ex-girlfriend, right..."

"Right...?" Freddie said slowly, not at all sure that he really wanted to hear this story.

"Her dad was a copper."

"I see."

"Anyway," Roger took a final drag and flicked his cigarette butt outside, before he closed the window and crossed the room to where Freddie stood. "Here, let me..."

Freddie handed them over and watched him unlocked them.

"Cool, huh?" Roger turned them over in his hands and looked up at Freddie. "Give me your hands."

Without stopping to think about it, Freddie did the exact opposite and instinctively cradled his wrists against his chest.

"Oh, come on," Roger rolled his eyes and laughed, "Don't look at me like that, I just wanna show you."

"Show me _what_ ," Freddie also laughed, nervously. "I think I know how handcuffs work, Roger."

"Alright," Roger shrugged and promptly closed one side around his own wrist, "Wow, guess you really are a sissy..."

Freddie tutted, rolling his eyes, and stretched out one hand. The mischievous grin was back on Roger's face. Freddie watched as the metal cuff snapped shut around his wrist, before he looked up at the blond drummer. Roger raised his eyebrows and pulled their joined hands toward himself, Freddie pulled them back. Roger mimed throwing away the key. Freddie pretended to panic. They both laughed.

"And now what?" Freddie asked.

"And now nothing," Roger chuckled, smiling at their joint hands, "This isn't... I mean, I'm just messing around."

"Right," Freddie looked at the cuffs again and turned his hand experimentally. The metal edge dug into his wrist. He tilted his head, momentarily absorbed in the feeling of the unrelenting, cool metal against his skin, wondering what the appeal might be.

"But, uh, if you like..."

There was a slight nervous quiver in Roger's voice. Freddie turned to look at him. Roger looked away, at their hands, touching Freddie's fingers and pressing their palms together. The chain hung loosely between their wrists.

"We could, um," he swallowed, "We could do that. Sometime."

Freddie looked back and forth between their hands and Roger, a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. "I'm sorry, dear, do _what_? Handcuff each other to the bed?"

Freddie was laughing. Roger was not. Freddie noticed and his eyes widened.

"Wait, you're _serious_?"

"It's just a bit of fun," Roger said, intertwining their fingers. "Like a game." He lifted an eyebrow. "A sexy game."

"Oh, my god," Freddie looked away, hiding his nervous grin behind his free hand, not sure whether he was more taken aback by the suggestion or the fact that Roger had apparently _done this before_.

"Hey, don't worry," Roger gave his hand a little squeeze and let go, reaching for the key, "It was just a thought."

He unlocked Freddie's cuff first, then his own, before closing them carefully. Freddie watched him tuck the handcuffs back up where they had come from.

"I just... I don't think I would know what to do," he suddenly said, almost a whisper, pulling his lips over his teeth. Roger's eyes snapped back to him.

"You wouldn't have to do anything," he replied, as though it was obvious, and closed the wardrobe. "I mean, you wouldn't really be able to." He took a step closer and slid one arm around Freddie's waist, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's... sort of the point." 

Freddie chewed his lips, lowering his eyes to Roger's shoulder where his hand had come to rest, his fingertips absently drawing patterns on the other's skin.

"You'd just leave everything to me," Roger said, stroking the small of his back in return. "All me."

Freddie looked up again, meeting his gaze. There it was, that almost predatory look in Roger's eyes. A look he was now very familiar with, although the effect it had on him had not lessened.

Freddie felt a little short of breath, all of a sudden.

Just as he was about to utter a tentative 'okay', Roger's face softened.

"Don't overthink it," Roger leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Did I freak you out? I'm sorry."

"No," he lied, a little.

Roger pulled back and looked at him, and right through him, or so it felt. "Alright."

They separated and continued to get ready for bed.  
Freddie slept shirtless, and when he hogged the duvet during the night, as both of them were prone to doing, Roger let him. 

\- - - 

The green Ford Thames van rattled as it sped down the motorway. It was too bloody early, Roger thought, suppressing a yawn while his eyes lazily followed the cars which were overtaking them. Brian was asleep in the passenger seat with an open textbook on his lap, next to his mate and their self-appointed roadie, who was now taking them back up to London after what had been a pretty decent gig in Brighton last night. That song which had been everywhere for a couple of months now was being played to death on the radio again. Roger could have sworn this was the second time he'd heard it in the space of an hour.

_Let the sun shine_  
_Let the sunshine in_  
_The sunshine in..._

The sun was shining alright, blinding him through the window. He was stuck in the backseat with Tim, who'd clearly had too much coffee this morning because he just wouldn't stop talking. Roger had tragically overslept and missed out on coffee. He had stopped listening to his wired bandmate properly about fourty miles ago.

"And do you know what the story behind that is?" Tim was looking at him. 

Roger realised he had been asked a question that necessitated a response and focused on Tim for a moment, not wanting to be rude. They'd had a bit of a row over one of their songs just before the gig and he didn't have the energy for any more arguments right now. Although asking Tim to please just shut the fuck up for a bit was still very tempting. Maybe he should've gone with pretending to be asleep.  
Damn, maybe that was what Brian was doing.  
Sneaky bastard. 

"What?" Roger asked, making an effort.

"The Age of Aquarius," Tim repeated, nodding toward the radio, "Do you know what that is, really?"

"Uhh... Not really," Roger mumbled unnecessarily, because Tim was clearly going to tell him in great detail no matter what.

"So, in astrological terms, right, at the end of last century..."

"Uh-huh," Roger zoned out again almost immediately. For the most part because he was still thinking about the previous night.

He hadn't _meant_ to go on the pull after their gig, but as they were spending the night in Brighton, they had - of course - gone out.  
And pull he did. Quite by accident, really. 

Her name was Linda and she had a divine pair of tits. Not that he'd had the privilege of seeing them up close and personal, in the end. Despite the fact that he probably _could_ have, if he'd tried. 

But he hadn't. Because he hadn't really been that keen, and he wasn't sure why. 

That was a lie. 

He knew why, which was a whole other can of worms he didn't want to open. 

It was all the more ridiculous, then, how strange he felt about what had happened, seeing as all it had ended up being was a fairly enthusiastic snog. And that was fine. Wasn't it?  
After all, he wasn't dating anyone. 

Right?

But the mild panic in his chest said otherwise. 

Roger bit his lip, wondering what the odds were that Brian or Tim would bring it up in front of Freddie tonight.  
They probably wouldn't. 

_Probably._

"Anyway, it's pretty mind-blowing, if you think about it," Tim was saying, "It's all happening right now, you know? We're _living_ the age of enlightenment."

"Yeah," Roger said absently, rolling down the window a little and reaching for his cigarettes. Wishing he could silence his mind. "That's far out." 

\- - - 

There was a yelp and a loud thud, followed by a groan and hysterical laughter. Most of it came from Roger himself, who had just fallen off of the back of the sofa, spilling his drink everywhere.

" _Roger!_ What are you _doing_! Fuck's sake," Freddie cursed at his beer-stained sleeve, laughing nonetheless, and pulled himself up onto his knees on the sofa, peering over the back of it. 

Roger tried and failed to pick himself back up, breathless with laughter, while simultaneously cradling the back of his head. "Oww..." he wheezed, and attempted to take a swig from the now empty glass he was holding. His brows knotted in confusion as to the whereabouts of his beer, before he seemed to become vaguely aware that it was, in fact, all over him. "Shit..."

"Is he alive?" Tim called from the other end of room, where he stood talking to Chris. 

"Ehh... barely," Brian called as he also took a peek behind the sofa, while perching on the armrest next to Freddie. Meanwhile Freddie reached down a hand to help his very inebriated friend up. 

He really didn't know how exactly a regular Saturday night out after a gig had turned into such a piss up. The house party certainly had something to do with it, because once the alcohol was free of charge it flowed much faster. But still, Freddie couldn't remember the last time he had seen Roger _this_ drunk. And now it seemed that he had quietly assumed responsibility for him, although unfortunately it was a case of the blind leading the blind, because Freddie was _not_ sober.

"Control your woman, Fred!" Chris called over and several people burst out laughing again. A short while ago, someone had joked about them bickering like an old married couple, after Freddie had dared to suggest that maybe it was time to take Roger home, an idea that the young man was, to put it mildly, _not_ keen on.

"Oi, _piss off_!" Roger shouted from behind the back of the sofa, while Freddie attempted to drag him back up to his feet. "I'mma put my womanly foot up yer arse!" 

The young drummer had already been the butt of mild ridicule for much of the night. He was still in his stage outfit, and not everyone here - Freddie genuinely didn't have a single clue whose house they had ended up in - was aware that he was even _in_ a band. So the purple velvet ensemble, embroidered in a floral pattern with pearls and gold thread, had turned a few heads. It had been one of Freddie's recent treasured finds for their stall, but for tonight it was Roger's, and Freddie thought he wore it extremely well. Freddie's white platform boots, borrowed for the night, tied it all together beautifully even though they were a size too big for him. It was bold and cutting edge, and perfect for a performance in a popular Soho night club like Scene, but it did accentuate Roger's slight frame and delicate handsome features in a way that drew out all the usual comments about his appearance. Most of the jabs were jovial and harmless, some of them less so, but Roger took them all in his stride and Freddie admired that immensely. 

Having finally made it back up to standing, unsteady on his feet, Roger swung a leg over the back of the sofa and fell onto the seat and into Freddie's lap. 

"Alright, that's it," Freddie sighed, pushing him up and and away from himself. "Brian, I think we're leaving."

"Nooo!" Roger whined, slouched over and holding his empty glass up in the air. "One moah for the ROAD!" 

"Do you want some help?" Brian asked amicably, leaning in closer to Freddie who was trying to prevent Roger from falling back onto him or face first off the sofa. 

"It's alright, dear, I can handle it," Freddie told him with a small smile, wondering if he wouldn't be better off accepting the offer. "Could you just get his jacket? And mine, if you don't mind, it's the one-" 

"I know which one it is, Fred," Brian smiled, a hand on his shoulder, and left to fetch their jackets. 

"I'm NOT leaving!" Roger protested, squinting at Freddie and waving a finger in his face when the older man pulled him up to his feet. 

"Yes, you are, dear. Yes, you are," Freddie patted his arm and carefully pried the empty glass from his hand, leading him toward the door. 

Brian caught up with them, carrying their jackets and wearing his own. Freddie frowned. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not leaving you alone with that," Brian informed him with a chuckle, nodding in Roger's direction. The blond man was currently attempting to find a pocket on his trousers, which had none, getting increasingly more frustrated. 

"Where the fuck're my fags? The _fuck_?!" 

Freddie looked at him for a long moment, and then back up at Brian. 

"Thank you," he said, emphatically. 

Brian laughed. 

"Goodnight, gorgeous!" Someone shouted with a snicker as they were leaving.

"Suck a DICK!" Roger retorted, turning around to give the whole room a two-finger salute, with both hands for good measure, while Freddie and Brian attempted to usher him out. "Seein 's ye all clearly want to-" 

"GOODNIGHT!" 

Freddie shouted over him and quickly shut the door, laughing at the state of his friend. 

"Tosser," Roger mumbled, and slapped their hands away as they tried to guide him from the front door to the pavement. "Fuck off, will you!? I can walk." 

He could. Although not in a straight line. 

"You don't have to come all the way to Shepherd's Bush," Freddie told Brian, lighting a cigarette and throwing a glance back at Roger, who was trailing behind them unsteadily as they made their way down the street. "I'll make sure he gets home." 

"You're not taking him all the way to Shepherd's Bush, are you?" Brian frowned, "Surely we can just make sure he gets on the bus and leave him to it, he'll be alright." 

Freddie occupied himself with his cigarette nervously, realising that what Brian was saying was exactly what a friend would do if said friend didn't plan on sleeping in Roger's bed tonight. 

"Uhm... yeah," he chuckled, looking away. "I was just, um, a bit worried, but- no, you're right. You're completely right, darling." 

For a few moments Brian said nothing, and Freddie started to panic, trying to recall what _exactly_ he had said and if he had said too much. But his tipsy mind refused to cooperate, which wasn't helping with the oncoming panic. 

"Well, if-" Brian started and was immediately interrupted by Roger suddenly and loudly singing a random harmony from one of their songs.

"If you're that worried..." he started again, as they both chose to ignore the singing. At least Roger wasn't kicking up a fuss about going home anymore. 

"Let's just take him to mine," Brian was saying "It's only a ten minute walk." 

"Oh, no, you don't..." Freddie tutted and flicked his wrist dismissively. "You don't have to, I can..."

"No, really, he's my bandmate, I feel responsible. He can sleep on the couch," Brian caught Freddie's eye, a smile on his lips. "I mean, he's not really your problem at all!" There was a brief pause. Brian was still smiling, but his eyes were oddly inquisitive. "Is he?" 

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again, then snorted and shook his head, taking a long drag from his cigarette and stammering something half unintelligible about being a good friend. That's when they realised that the singing had stopped. Freddie came to a halt and turned around, one hand on Brian's arm. "Where the devil did he go?" 

They exchanged a mildly worried, if amused, look.

"Roger...?" Brian called, as they retraced their steps to the last corner they had turned. 

"Rog-" It was Freddie who spotted him, not too far off, doubled over and just about holding himself up against a brick wall.  
Freddie shrieked, making Brian jump. 

"ROGER! If you hurl on my bloody shoes, _I fucking swear_ -" 

\- - - 

"Ohmgodh, fank yew- yer da besht," Roger said, his mouth full, groaning with sheer delight and eyes falling shut. He swallowed the bite and struggled to brush a few strands of hair out of his face, dropping his head down onto Freddie's shoulder when he finally succeeded. 

It had to be almost four in the morning. Brian was getting ready for bed and Freddie had gone and fixed them a couple of sandwiches before Roger could take it upon himself to raid Brian's fridge. 

"This's fuckin' lovely," Roger slurred, taking another bite. He moved his head, just about managing not to roll off Freddie's shoulder and headbutt the coffee table. 

"Why, thank you," Freddie rested his head on top of Roger's for a moment, a smile on his lips, "I'm a regular Betty Crocker, me."

Roger burst out laughing and couldn't stop for a while, almost choking on his food. It _was_ funny because neither of them liked to cook or was, in fact, any good at it. 

Entirely forgetting where they were, Roger tilted his head and pressed a clumsy kiss to Freddie's cheek. "I love you," he said affectionately, "yer hysterical."

Freddie's heart stopped and started up again with a violent lurch, taking his breath away. 

He was drunk, but not _that_ drunk. Not too drunk to realise that Roger hadn't meant to say what he had just said at all. That he was quite likely far more deeply in love with his sandwich at the moment than he was with him.

But he was drunk _enough_. 

And suddenly, his heart felt dangerously full. 

Maybe this was his chance, Freddie thought with wild abandon. His one chance to say it, without suffering the consequences. Roger might not even remember, in the morning. And if he did, Freddie could blame it on the alcohol and deny everything. 

It was a plan. A fucking terrible plan. 

But at least, that way, he would have said it. 

Out loud. 

Just the once. 

He heard the words leave his mouth, barely more than a whisper, and oh god, it was too late. 

"I love you, too." 

Too late to undo it. Oh no. Oh god. What was he _doing_? 

Roger picked his head up off Freddie's shoulder and looked at him. Freddie felt himself turn to him in slow motion, feeling faint. 

Roger was blinking at him blearily, and it was hard to tell if he looked surprised or shocked, or even confused. Until a smile began to form on his lips. For a brief moment, hope sparked up in Freddie's heart like a wildfire together with the realisation that he was going to actually fucking _cry_ if his feelings were reciprocated. But then, a horrible thought seemed to hit Roger through the drunken haze and his face fell.  
Freddie wasn't sure what he had expected, but he definitely hadn't expected what Roger said next.  
It hit him like a freight train going full speed. 

"I got with sum'un in Brigh'un las' night," Roger mumbled, swaying a little. "I-" he hiccuped "I'm really sorry."

"What," Freddie said weakly, just as Brian returned to the living room in his pyjamas.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People: "Thank you" is probably the worst response to "I love you".
> 
> Roger: Hold my beer.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie remembers, Roger doesn't.  
> Brian knows, Freddie doesn't.  
> Freddie has nothing to say, but Roger does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies, I would like to address the fears regarding the end of this story (which we're not nearing yet, by the way). Please don't be so scared. Just enjoy the ride, like our boys here are doing. It's never all bad. And an end isn't always _the end_.
> 
> Okay, now that's out of the way, welcome to part 2 of 3, of what was originally going to be one single damn chapter. O_o
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- One of Freddie Mercury's prized possessions when he was in his late teens/early 20s was a Philips cassette player. Fascinating stuff, I know.
> 
> Lastly, I realised too late that my source article for finding out when Brian and Chrissie started dating had Chrissie spelled wrong (with a y)! So, I've fixed that now. Sorry about that.

\- - - 

Waking up was like pulling himself to the surface of a deep, dark sludge back into the harsh brightness of reality. The first thing Roger became aware of, was that his mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted absolutely rotten. He groaned and rolled over into thin air, failing to catch himself in time before he slid off the couch and ungracefully landed on the carpeted floor. 

The second realisation was that this was not his bed, nor his house. Disorientated, his mind coming up blank when he tried to remember how he had ended up here, Roger attempted to sit up and immediately winced at the dull, throbbing pain in his head. With a groan, he blinked his eyes open and took in his surroundings, relieved to find that they were familiar.

Oh, good. He was at Brian's house. 

His eyes fell on a glass of water on the coffee table. Moving sluggishly, Roger reached for it and took a couple of sips, alleviating the awful dryness in his mouth. His stomach turned almost immediately, letting him know that it wasn't prepared to keep anything down just yet, quite possibly not even water.  
He put the glass back and gingerly lowered his head onto the sofa, on top of his arm, closing his eyes again because the room was too damn bright.  
The night was beginning to come back to him now. In broken, mismatched fragments, at first, all out of order. And some missing. Christ, but he'd really overdone it this time. It had been a while since he had blacked out like this and woken up reeking of beer, sweat and shame, entirely unable to recall parts of the night. 

A door opened behind him and Roger tried, but ultimately failed, to lift his head again. 

"Hey." There was a hint of amusement in Brian's tone. "You up?" 

Roger grunted. 

"Can I get you anything?" Brian asked. 

"What time is it?" Roger asked back, his voice gravelly and cracking on the first two words. 

"Just after eleven. How're you feeling?"

"Like death," Roger croaked, and proceeded to cough up his lungs for a few moments. "As in..." He winced. "I'd like to... please... die." 

Brian chuckled. "Well, I'm not surprised. You were spectacularly wankered last night." 

\- - - 

"Let's GO!" Roger jumped up on his way out of the door, grabbing on to the top of the doorframe and pulling himself up. He swung himself out of the club's back entrance and into the street, ahead of Brian and Chrissie, who had finally showed up to see her boyfriend play. She was categorically not talking to Roger outside of the smallest of small talk, but it didn't bother him a great deal. He was still buzzing with euphoria and John had invited them out to the Speakeasy once more. 

"Hey Fred!" Tim raised his hand in greeting, looking over Roger's shoulder, and Roger turned, locking eyes with the dark-haired man in the fur jacket who was leaning against the wall. He held a cigarette between his fingers, close to his lips. Roger watched them curl into a smile and his own smile widened. They hadn't had a chance to catch up before the gig, and while Roger knew Freddie was coming, he hadn't been able to spot him in the crowd. 

Seeing him now, he wanted to run at him and tackle him to the ground. Pin him down and kiss him senseless.

He couldn't. 

But he wanted to. 

Instead, Freddie congratulated them on their performance, following it up with half a dozen notes as they all made their way to Oxford Circus together. 

"How was Brighton?" Freddie asked, a little while later, at the club. 

Roger suddenly developed a great interest in the colourful wallpaper, remembering voluptuous curves, sweet perfume and red lipstick. 

"Yeah," he said, "Really good." There was a lump in his chest, heavy as lead. An anxiety he couldn't shake, and he hated it. He proceeded to gulp down half of his pint in a few large sips. 

It would help, he told himself, if he had a buzz going. 

\- - - 

Roger opened one eye and watched his bandmate sit down on the other end of the sofa, grinning down at him like a bastard as he lifted his long legs up onto the coffee table. 

"How much do you remember?" he asked, watching him curiously. 

"Uhh..." Roger rubbed his face. "Most of it, before the party."

He remembered running into Freddie on his way back from the toilets, in the hallway decorated with autographed photos of rock and pop royalty. 

\- - - 

"Oh, hey there..."

"Hey," they circled each other awkwardly and then stopped, keenly aware of the the fact that they were in a public place. 

"I like your outfit," Freddie said, eyes scanning his body in a way that made Roger's breath quicken. 

"You picked it out," he said with a shrug, flashing his friend a lop-sided smile. 

Freddie returned the smile and brushed past him on his way to the toilets. 

"I'd love to take it off," he murmured, in passing, his fingers grazing the back of Roger's hand, and Roger bit his lip, staring down the corridor toward the crowded club and wondering if Freddie would still be saying that if he knew what he'd been up to the night before. 

When he returned to the others there was a new round of drinks on the table. Roger finished his previous pint and downed a good portion of the new one, before sitting down. 

"Thirsty?" Tim asked, raising his eyebrows at him. 

Roger looked down at the glass in his hand and thought of his lips on Linda's neck, and of Freddie's smile. 

"Yeah," he said, and lifted the glass again. 

\- - - 

"Whose house did we end up in?" 

"You know what, I've no idea," Brian shrugged and leaned his head back against the couch. "One of Tim's mates, I think? Remember we were leaving and we ran into a bunch of people in Trafalgar Square just after Chrissie got on the night bus?" 

"Oh yeah..." Roger squinted, remembering, and grimaced. 

Thinking hurt. 

\- - - 

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black_  
_I see my red door, I must have it painted black_  
_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts..._

Roger felt himself moving to the beat. Not quite dancing, but his body refused to be still. He was drunk. That much he knew. The room was a bit of a blur and things were coming out of his mouth which he couldn't quite control. He was pretty sure that terrible, filthy nun joke he had just told in front of this group of people he barely knew wasn't even that funny, but they were laughing.  
Most of them were drunk, too. Especially the brunette, whose name he had forgotten almost the second she had introduced herself. For a brief moment he found himself eyeing her tight dress and her painted lips. He could kiss her, he thought, if he got her alone. 

She was definitely into him. 

What would Freddie do, Roger wondered, if he saw him copping off with a girl from across the room? And why was that thought stopping him? Why had it stopped him from taking things further last night? What of it, if he wanted to have a bit of fun with whoever the fuck he fancied? It wasn't as if Freddie was his _girlfriend_ , he thought, and almost burst out laughing at the ludicrous idea.  
Except, much like the nun joke, it wasn't really all that funny. 

The truth was, it wasn't the brunette he wanted to get alone, in a dim corner of the room. Not her pink lips he wanted to taste, not the heat of _her_ body he wanted pressed up against his. Just like he hadn't wanted Linda. Not all that much. Not as much as by all accounts he _should_ have wanted her, he thought. And the reason for that, he finally admitted to himself, wondering how the fuck it had come to this, was that he _was_ for all senses and purposes dating someone. Or as good as. 

Someone he cared about a great deal. 

Fuck. 

Freddie _was_ his girlfriend. 

No, worse. Boyfriend. 

_He had a **boyfriend**_. 

Roger felt dizzier, all of a sudden. It was probably to do with his breathing, which seemed to have grown unusually rapid. He swallowed, his mouth dry. His eyes found the dark shaggy head of hair on the other side of the room of their own accord and he watched Freddie laugh and clap his hands together excitedly, the handful of people he was talking to hanging from his lips.

Fucking great, Roger thought, knocking back what remained of the drink in his hand. Everyone was already laying into him and cracking idiotic jokes about the way he looked tonight. The last fucking thing he needed was _an actual fucking boyfriend._

Roger turned away and contemplated his empty glass, contemplated the way Freddie's arms around him made him feel at night. 

A few people over by the record player were pouring gin, and Roger went to join them without a second thought, telling some bloke who muttered 'nice blouse' in passing to go do one. 

\- - - 

"Did we walk here?" Roger asked uncertainly.

"We did," Brian confirmed, stifling a yawn. "You threw up on someone's doorstep." 

Roger snorted. "Oh yeah, that's right." 

"And in the bathroom sink," Brian added.

"Shit. I don't remember that," Roger frowned. "At all." He gave Brian what he hoped was an apologetic look. "Sorry." 

"It's alright, I didn't even know. Freddie told me." 

Oh.

"Great." 

The idea of Freddie having to make sure he didn't spew all over Brian's bathroom, probably fucking holding his hair, too, filled him with an unwelcome sense of shame. 

"Where'd he go?" Roger asked, after a moment. 

"Home." 

"Right."

That made sense. After all, there wouldn't have been anywhere for him to sleep, anyway. Roger tried to remember arriving at Brian's flat, tried to remember Freddie leaving, and couldn't. He had a couple of very vague memories of stumbling down the corridor toward the bathroom and of sitting on the living room floor eating a sandwich with his head on Freddie's shoulder, but that was it.

"Did I do any stupid shit I should know about?" Roger asked, just in case, not really expecting a serious response. But Brian turned his head and looked at him for a long moment, a thoughtful look on his face. 

"What?" Roger raised up his head and felt his insides flip, a sickly, anxious feeling in his stomach.

"What'd I do?" 

"I don't know, exactly," Brian said slowly, "I think you might've upset Freddie." 

Roger stared at him, unblinking. "How?"

"I'm not sure, I came in and-" Brian rubbed his jaw, staring into the middle distance. "You two were... It was weird." 

_Shit_.

Roger closed his eyes and put his face in his hand, wondering in what new and magnificent way he had screwed up now. And then a terrifying thought hit him. Oh shit. Had he _given away_ something he shouldn't have in front of Brian? 

"Weird?" he asked apprehensively, not daring to look his bandmate in the eye. "Weird how?" 

Oh Jesus, Fred was going to kill him. 

_Oh Jesus._

Brian sighed. "Just talk to him, Rog, I'm not sure I want to get involved in whatever's going on with the two of you." 

Roger felt his stomach drop down a bottomless hole, utterly convinced, in that moment, that Brian _knew_. Or as good as knew. And that it was his fault.  
He groaned, almost sobbed, and lowered his face into the crook of his arm. 

"Please," he mumbled into his arm, too embarrassed to look up at Brian. " _Please_ , don't tell anyone. I'm begging you."

There was a long silence. 

"Tell anyone what?" Brian asked, and the question sounded almost rhetorical, but it dawned on Roger that perhaps he had jumped to the wrong conclusion too early.  
And as a result, he had now done precisely what he had assumed he was already guilty of. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was almost defeating. His head was throbbing. Roger looked up and slowly met Brian's eyes. 

"Nothing," he said faintly, even though it felt far too late to get away with that. 

Brian came to his rescue, and Roger had never appreciated him more than in that moment. 

"Okay," he said, "I don't think I've any idea what you're talking about." There was a reassuring calmness in his tone, his eyes kind as he held Roger's gaze. "But if I _did_... have _some_ idea..."

Roger stared back at him, knowing that his face probably spoke volumes, but in no state to do anything about it. Brian's lips parted for a moment, as though in surprise. Perhaps he had expected denial. Perhaps he hadn't even really _known_ , until this moment. 

"I- I wouldn't tell a soul," he said solemnly. "You have my word."

Roger swallowed, his cheeks burning.

"Thank you." 

An awkward silence followed and they both averted their eyes at the same time. Roger studied the worn, grey carpet, feeling oddly numb and overwhelmed at the same time. 

Brian took his feet off the coffee table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. 

"However," he said, "I _would_ like you to know that I wouldn't think any less of you."

Roger busied himself with the knots in a few tangled strands of his hair, chewing on his lips and wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. 

"Either one of you," Brian added and coughed into his fist. "You know, _if_ I had any idea what you were talking about. Which, um, I don't."

"Okay," Roger said meekly, because he didn't have a single clue what else he could possibly say to that.

"Anyway..." Brian stretched and got to his feet, "I've not had breakfast yet so... full English?" 

"It's not a full anything if there's no bangers or bacon," Roger pointed out, responding almost automatically, and glanced up. "I mean-" 

"Or you could bugger off home," Brian suggested, eyebrows raised and his head inclined with a small cheeky grin. 

"Breakfast sounds lovely," Roger gave him a pale smile in return. "Thanks," he added, even though he didn't think he could actually keep anything down. 

\- - - 

"What," Freddie said, his eyes filling with hurt, and Roger knew he had screwed up terribly. 

"Shit," he was trying to focus on Freddie's face and _couldn't_. Everything was swimming around him, and it was very distracting. "I dinnuh wanna tell ye that." 

The room spun. He grabbed on to Freddie's arm, for the most part to keep himself from falling over. When had sitting become such a challenge?

Brian was back, asking something. Roger wasn't listening. 

"Sorry," he slurred, "Really shouldn'a told you..."

Freddie's arm moved out of Roger's reach and he swayed, only prevented from collapsing onto the floor by the sofa behind him. Freddie stood up. He was leaving, Roger realised and figured he should be saying something, probably, but he couldn't even look at him for any length of time because looking at one thing was making the nausea worse and he really didn't want to throw up on Brian's carpet. Also, Brian was right beside him, and drunk as he was, Roger had not lost his mind. What the fuck was he going to say in front of Brian, anyway? 

"Bye," was all he got out as the door opened, "see ye t'mrow..."

"Goodnight," he heard Freddie say, and nodded, waving with his half-eaten sandwich, for some reason. 

"Will you make sure he drinks some water."

He heard Freddie say, and then he was gone. 

Roger closed his eyes, opened them again with a start, and realised he had momentarily passed out and dropped the sandwich. Brian came into view and set down a glass in front of him on the coffee table. 

"Let's get you onto the couch, shall we," Brian said. 

"I fink I fucked up," Roger informed him, trying to lift himself up off the floor with Brian's help. "I fucked up, Bri." 

\- - - 

Freddie had lit his third cigarette in fifteen minutes shortly before the night bus came speeding down the quiet, empty road. He narrowed his eyes, taking a long drag and inhaling deeply. For a second or two, Freddie envisioned stepping out into the road in front of it. 

It seemed like the easiest and least painful way out of this situation. 

But instead, he lifted his hand and hailed the bus, flicking the unfinished cigarette away. He found a seat at the back and turned to the window, fighting back tears with little success all the way home. 

The worst part was that he had known, all along, that this would happen. And yet he had allowed himself to believe that maybe, just _maybe_ , it wouldn't.

After all, it had felt different, this time. 

There had been more, of everything.  
More happiness than he could bear.  
More intimacy than he had ever experienced.

And now, there was more heartbreak, too. 

He thought he had been prepared for it.  
Had braced himself for it. 

But it still hurt _like hell_.

The novelty had worn off, Freddie thought. Clearly, Roger was over it, over him, _bored_ with him, and because he wasn't a prick, he felt bad about it, too. 

But it wasn't his fault.  
It wasn't anyone's fault.

Freddie had always known that this was how it would end. What he hadn't anticipated, was confessing his feelings to Roger in a drunken moment of weakness, making everything far, far worse. 

How was he ever going to face Roger again, after this? He could imagine his face, big blue eyes full of pity.

_'Sorry, Fred...'_

How could he have got it so wrong? 

\- - - 

Freddie collapsed onto Roger's chest, breathing heavily, a slow smile forming on his lips. 

"Wow..." 

"Yeah..." Roger chuckled breathlessly. Freddie could hear his heart, still racing, like his own. "We're getting pretty fucking good at his," Roger said, "if you ask me." 

Freddie laughed. 

They had discovered a lot about each other over the last two weeks. Freddie had discovered that the right side of Roger's neck was awfully ticklish in places, unless he was turned on, and then those same spots would elicit the most delightful little noises of pleasure. Roger had found out pretty quickly that Freddie's nipples were very sensitive and that was a lot of fun, too. Both of them enjoyed a good cuddle and neither of them liked cooking or getting up early. Freddie complained about the mess in Roger's room constantly, and Roger complained that he never lifted a finger to help keep it at bay. Except for that one time he'd helped change the sheets which, to be fair, had really been in need of it at that point. Speaking of...

"Tissues," Freddie said, holding up his hand, and Roger passed him the roll of toilet paper from the nightstand. 

Freddie lifted himself up, sitting back on his haunches, and Roger stretched lazily, his eyes following Freddie's hands as he cleaned them both up, then roaming his body and finally lingering on his face. Freddie looked up with a smile, which seemed to be permanently etched onto his face now, whenever they were together.  
It was the lack of shame, he had come to realise, which made all the difference. From past experiences, Freddie had learned that being intimate with someone was shameful if he enjoyed it when he shouldn't, and embarrassing if he didn't enjoy it enough when he should.  
But there was none of that now. Roger was so unashamed. His touch was unapologetic, his gaze unwavering, he was _free_ and he was setting Freddie free, one kiss at a time. Undoing him, and patching him up where he was broken. 

"Thanks..." Roger sighed, and pulled him down on top of him and into a long, leisurely kiss. 

The Hendrix album was still playing in the background. It had become a bit of a favourite, whenever Freddie stayed the night. 

\- - - 

When Freddie returned home at quarter to five in the morning, the overcrowded flatshare was eerily peaceful. Trying to keep it that way, he snuck into the room he shared with Kevin and quietly got ready for bed. Then he pulled out his compact cassette player and headphones. The tape inside contained Electric Ladyland, recorded from his LP long before he had lent the album to Roger. He climbed into bed, turned to the wall and pressed play, the volume on low, watching the moving shadows on the wall as the odd car drove by outside. When his eyes began to sting again, he closed them, and saw Roger's face. 

Roger, with a smile on his lips. 

Roger, shaking strands of blond hair out of his face. 

Roger, looking at him as if he were the only thing that mattered in the whole world. 

He was good at that, was Roger. Freddie was certain that whoever he had _got with_ in Brighton probably thought so, too. 

_The morning is dead_  
_And the day is, too_  
_There's nothing left here to meet me_  
_But the velvet moon_  
_All my loneliness I have felt today_  
_It's like a little more than enough_  
_To make a man throw himself away_  


_And I continue_  
_To burn the midnight lamp_  
_Alone_  


\- - - 

"You've _ruined_ this record for me," Freddie complained with a sigh, breaking the kiss. He moved off Roger and lay his head back down on his chest, where he was comfortable. Unlike his own, Roger's chest was smooth. Soft. Perfect for lying on, really.

"I'm sorry," Roger chuckled, fingers lightly stroking Freddie's shoulder. 

"Liar," Freddie lifted his head a little and licked one of his nipples, which caused Roger to squirm and make a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a giggle.  
It was a lovely sound, so Freddie did it again. 

"Oi, stop it..."

Roger wriggled away from him and onto his side. Freddie pulled himself up, bringing them face to face, the tips of their noses almost brushing. The B side had finished playing now, leaving only the soft crackle of the needle on vinyl.  
The longer they looked into each other's eyes, the more their smiles faded to something deeper and quieter. Freddie lifted his hand to Roger's face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, tracing his cheekbone, his jaw and his lips with the tips of his fingers.

"What're you doing?" Roger asked quietly, turning into his touch.

"Wondering if you're real," Freddie breathed, and he hadn't meant for it to come out quite so wistful, or for his voice to quiver the way it did when he said it. But Roger simply leaned in and kissed him, so tender and sweet it hurt.

\- - - 

It was well after midday when Roger arrived home and collapsed in his own bed, still feeling much the worse for wear. It took him a long time to peel off his dirty clothes, and longer still to drag himself to the shower.

Before Saturday had turned into such a late, debauched night, the plan had been to spend most of Sunday at the market stall with Freddie.

Roger wondered how Freddie was feeling, and if he had gone, in the end. There was an easy enough way to find out, of course, but the truth was that he was dreading it slightly. Because that conversation involved finding out what stupid thing he had done or said last night to make Freddie mad.

So Roger watched a bit of telly, dozed off on the sofa until his flatmates came home and chewed on a bit of toast while flicking through his notebook before he finally faced the inevitable and rang the public phone at the market late in the afternoon.

It rang for a long time, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes nobody heard it, if the place was busy, or no one was free. He was considering putting the phone down - oh well, he'd _tried_ \- when somebody finally did pick up. Roger asked for Freddie, and waited.  
And waited, anxiously picking at the stubble on his chin. 

He heard someone take the received back up, and then - nothing. 

"Hello?" he said, after a moment.

"Hey," said Freddie, his voice subdued.

Roger took a breath as his anxiety increased tenfold. It was an awful feeling, not knowing what he had done, or how bad it was. 

"Sorry I didn't make it out today."

Open with an apology. Probably a good move, he thought.

"It's alright. I didn't think you would."

"Yeah," Roger chuckled, "I feel like shit."

Silence. No comment. Not even a word of commiseration. Oh Jesus, was it that bad?

"So, um," Roger exhaled shakily, staring down at the phone in his lap, "I don't, uhh, I don't really remember what happened last night. At Brian's?"

"Oh."

Christ, it was like pulling teeth.

"So... help me out here, please," he raised his eyebrows, "Because Brian said you might be mad at me and I don't know what I'm apologising for."

There was a sigh. 

"It's nothing, dear," Freddie said, his voice dejected. "You don't have to apologise."

Roger frowned. "Um, are you sure about that? Cause it doesn't sound like nothing."

"You-" Freddie started, and fell silent.

"What?" Roger put his head in his hand. "Freddie, please. Just fucking tell me," he blurted out, and immediately checked himself, "Sorry, I'm sorry, just... I've obviously done something."

"You told me about Brighton," Freddie said impassively. 

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

Roger's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Although at the same time, he wondered how he hadn't guessed, when he hadn't been able to stop thinking about _that_ all weekend. _Of course_ he had drunkenly blabbed to Freddie about it.

Of course.

Idiot.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"So you said."

"I really am."

"Why?" asked Freddie.

Roger blinked, at a loss for words. "Uhh..."

Was that a trick question?

"It's fine," Freddie told him, before Roger could think of an answer that didn't sound ridiculous. "It is what it is."

Roger opened his mouth and closed it again, not sure what to say to that, either.

 _It is what it is?_ What was that supposed to mean?

"I have to go," Freddie said into the unbearable silence between them.

"No," Roger sat up straighter, clutching the phone. "No, don't- Please-"

"Roger, what do you want me to _say_?"

There it was, finally. A flash of emotion. Roger could work with that.

"I don't know! But I don't want you to just tell me it's fine when it's obviously not," he replied.

"Alright," Freddie said, anger creeping into his voice and yet, it made him sound more vulnerable, somehow. "I'd _love_ to be angry. Because I honestly thought we-" His voice broke, and Roger's chest tightened painfully.

"It doesn't matter what I thought," Freddie continued, composing himself, "I'm not angry with you, because I don't have that right. So I don't know what you want from me, I really don't! You can- you can go shag whoever you bloody well fancy, darling," His words were punctuated with a mirthless laugh, "You don't owe me an explanation. You don't owe me shit." 

"Freddie... _no_." It was all Roger could say, because there was so much he wanted to disagree with, he didn't know where to begin. He shook his head, getting to his feet with the phone in his hand and the receiver in the other. "I'm sorry, I can't do this over the phone. I'm coming to you." 

"I really don't think-"

"I do." Roger checked his watch. It was nearing the time when they usually closed up for the day. "Wait for me."

Freddie tutted.

"Don't leave," Roger said sternly. "Do you hear me? Just wait. Please."

There was no reply.

" _Freddie_."

" _Fine_ ," Freddie huffed.

"I'll see you in twenty minutes," Roger promised, and hung up the phone. 

Five minutes later, he jumped on the forty-nine to Clapham Junction, which usually got him to Kensington High Street in ten minutes. This, it turned out, was too short a time to try and get his thoughts in order and figure out what it was he wanted - no, _needed_ \- to say.

But there was nothing for it now, Roger thought, as he jumped off down the road from Kensington Market. 

If Freddie was still there.

Roger pushed through the Sunday evening high street crowd, his heart in his throat.

If Freddie was still waiting for him.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the end of this to Hozier's "Take Me To Church". Mood. 
> 
> Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to Miracule whose beautiful Froger ficlet "Zero at the Bone" you must check out (I must have read it half a dozen times now), and whose stunning writing inspired me to push myself more and not be complacent with my own.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional hangovers and innocent sleepovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things! First off, I am swamped with work and it's been so hard to squeeze in time to write. :(
> 
> Secondly, REJOICE! You are in for a double chapter update this weekend! This chapter, once again, was getting so lengthy that I've divided it up into two short chapters because the second part deserved to be its own chapter (you will see why when you read it). I will put the next part up tomorrow night at the latest, possibly even sooner. We'll see, I'm still editing it. So I guess that makes this chapter part one of part three of... whatever, I give up. Lol Just enjoy!

\- - - 

Freddie had drifted off to sleep at dawn, and been awoken by the general morning noise level in the flat share far too early. The sky outside the window was grey and gloomy, and so were his spirits. 

He didn't want to leave his bed.  
He didn't want to shave.  
He didn't want to eat, or get dressed, or speak a single word to anyone. 

But worse than getting up and going about his life as if there was any point to it today, was lying in bed and letting the events of the night replay in his mind on an infinite, torturous loop. 

When he could bear it no longer, Freddie made his way to the market because there really wasn't anywhere else to go. A place that didn't remind him of Roger simply didn't exist, and it was easier, somehow, to be desperately heartbroken surrounded by crowds of strangers.  
Given the state Roger had been in, Freddie hadn't expected him to show up but was still relieved, and yet disappointed despite himself, when he didn't.  
For hours, his eyes kept wandering to the public telephone, half expecting that it might ring, a strange mixture of dread and hope in his chest. 

On the one hand he couldn't imagine actually talking about last night, didn't know what he could possibly say on the matter, but on the other hand, he couldn't believe that Roger apparently felt the same way. 

But then the telephone did ring. 

And Freddie discovered that while he had agonised over every single word spoken last night ad nauseum, Roger didn't remember a single fucking thing.

Of course he didn't. 

Freddie wanted to laugh, and cry, and punch a hole through something. But mostly, he wanted to disappear into the anonymity of the high street crowds instead of waiting around like a fool. 

He was locking up the stall and still considering just taking off when Roger showed up, a little earlier than he had anticipated, and took him off guard. 

"Fred." 

Freddie jumped and whipped around, fumbling the padlock in his hands. It slipped through his fingers and fell, swinging on the chain it was attached to and smacking into the wooden door with a loud clang. 

"That was fast," Freddie said, ignoring the dangling lock and crossing his arms over his chest in a half-protective, half-confrontational manner.

"Yeah, well," Roger brushed hair out of his face, standing before him in a get up that looked as if he had got dressed in the dark. An old shapeless jumper in horrid faded orange, patchwork trousers in every shade of blue and purple, and sandals. 

"I hurried." 

"I can see that." 

Roger raised his eyebrows as he nodded toward the stall, awkwardly pulling his stretched out sleeves over his hands. "Can we, um..." 

Freddie shrugged and took a step back from the door, turning his head away but watching Roger out of the corner of his eye as he approached and let himself into the stall. Making his reluctance known by the way he dragged his feet, Freddie followed him and very deliberately left the door ajar. 

"Okay," Roger took a deep breath and lifted a hand to his forehead for a moment, staring at the floor. "Okay, so, I don't know what I said to you last night. What did I say, exactly?" 

'You said you loved me over a stupid bloody sandwich, and then told me you shagged someone else,' Freddie wanted to say, but didn't. 

Wow, so maybe he _was_ pretty angry, after all, now that Roger was standing in front of him. 

"Why?" he asked, his tone frosty. "Are you trying to get your story straight?"

Roger glanced up at him, ready to retort something, but then thought better of it and lowered his eyes. 

"Alright, well, I guess I'll just tell you what happened," he mumbled, "again." 

Freddie snorted. "I'd really rather you didn't." 

"Just hear me out, okay?" Roger lifted a placating hand, his eyes pleading. "Cause I'm pretty sure I left out the part-" he paused and waited for Freddie to meet his eyes. "The part where all I could think about, the whole time, was _you_."

There was a long pause. Roger had obviously expected that Freddie might have something to say to that. Freddie didn't. He barely even believed it, if he was honest. 

"But you weren't there," Roger continued, nervously playing with his hair. "and... she _was_..." 

Freddie gave a loud, humourless laugh. "Oh, so it's my fault then for not coming to Brighton! Brilliant, thank you for clearing that up."

"No, no! That's not..." Roger's jaw tensed as he huffed with frustration. "I didn't mean it like that, come on. You know that." 

Freddie bristled at his tone. "Do I? I don't even know why you're here, if I'm honest!" 

"Because-" Roger started, hotly, and broke off, looking for words that wouldn't come. 

Meanwhile Freddie found that he had plenty to say, all of a sudden. "Because _what_? Because you're _sorry_? I don't need you to feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry _for you_!" Roger cut in, raising his voice. "What the fuck are you talking about!" 

Any other day, Freddie would not shy away from an argument. Any other day, Freddie didn't fear confrontation. But today was not any other day. Today he was utterly emotionally exhausted and that was the moment when he realised it. He backed away, as much as he could in the confined space, arms wrapped around himself. 

"Just leave me alone, Roger," he pleaded, "I don't want to fight, I just want you to let me be. Is that too much to ask?" 

Roger's shoulders fell, his expression softening. "I'm not- I'm not trying to fight with you." He looked as if he wanted to step closer, or reach out, for a moment. Before he decided against it.  
Freddie wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed. He wanted Roger to leave and he wanted to be pulled into an embrace. Freddie immediately admonished himself mentally, because _how_ could he still pine for Roger's arms around him even now? 

"Please, just go," he said quietly, averting his eyes. "You really shouldn't have come here in the first place." 

An excruciating silence followed his words. He almost wished Roger would start shouting again. But mostly, Freddie wished for it to be over, for it _all_ to please just be over already. 

"Okay," Roger swallowed. "I'll go."

There was such genuine dismay in his voice that it made Freddie look up. 

"Just let me say one thing." The younger man was staring at him with large, sad eyes. He looked as heartbroken as Freddie felt, and Freddie didn't _understand_. If Roger didn't want things to be over - if he hadn't had enough of Freddie - then why would he have jumped into bed with some bird first chance he got as if he'd been dying for the opportunity? 

"You asked me why I'm sorry," Roger said, nervously tugging at the end of his sleeve, "I'll tell you why. Cause the moment I kissed her, I knew I didn't really want to. Not half as much as I want to kiss you. _All_ the time. Honestly, I sort of ditched her not half an hour later. I'm sorry you're upset and I'm sorry you found out, because she meant fuck all and you mean so much-" He drew a breath and sighed, holding Freddie's gaze and once again seemingly resisting the impulse to touch him. "You mean so much to me." 

"But, wait," Freddie said slowly, his head and heart in such a state that he wasn't sure what to think, let alone feel, "Did you- Didn't you- You kissed her and- and that's it?" 

Roger blinked at him, confused. "Well, yeah." And then it dawned on him. "I didn't shag her, Jesus, Freddie. Is that what you thought?" 

Freddie just looked at him, feeling ridiculous, relieved and stunned all the same time. 

"Christ, no wonder!" Roger ran his hands over his face, a small smile of relief on his lips. "We snogged for a bit, that's all. It honestly wasn't even anything. Why the fuck did you think-" 

"You said you 'got with' someone!" Freddie exclaimed defensively. "How was I supposed to know what that means?" 

"So you just _assumed_ I shagged her." Roger snorted, somewhere between amused and offended. "Nice." 

"Well, I mean!" Freddie gestured in Roger's direction. "Can you really blame me, Roger? _Really_?" 

Roger opened his mouth and closed it again, running his hand through his hair, a little self-consciously. "I mean, I thought about it," he admitted quietly, "...But I _didn't_." 

He raised his eyebrows, looking positively impressed with himself. Freddie tilted his chin up as he studied him intently. 

"What?" Roger asked, opening his arms in a gesture of surrender. "You think I'm lying?" 

Freddie didn't think he was lying. Roger was many things, but he was not a particularly good liar. 

"No," he finally said, trying to process it all. Freddie brought one hand up to his chin, absently stratching his jaw. "Was she a looker?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "This girl?" 

Roger frowned at first and then the smile returned to his face, his eyes a little playful when he replied. "Oh, mate, she was bloody gorgeous."

"Hm," Freddie bit his lip, lowering his hand as he watched the fair-haired man step closer.  
Roger's hand found his, threading his fingers through Freddie's, lightly enough to allow him to pull away if he chose to.  
Freddie stared down at their joint hands and didn't move. 

"But like I said..." Roger reached for the door with his other hand and pulled it shut. Freddie glanced at it with trepidation. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about you." 

It was all so well done, Freddie thought. So smooth, impossible to resist. Roger's tone of voice, the way he moved in on him so deliberately, yet tenderly. Until his warm breath was on Freddie's cheek, and he knew the moment he lifted his head, just a little, Roger would kiss him. That knowledge alone, the anticipation of it, made his heart beat faster.  
And yet, he was afraid. Just that. _Afraid_. Because he couldn't simply forget the way he had felt all of last night, and all day, leading up to this moment. He never wanted to feel that way again. The fact that someone had that power over him made him feel sick to his stomach. He wasn't prepared to dive right back into it all, knowing how much it could hurt. How much it _would_. If not today, then another day.  
There was no future here. There couldn't be, given that Roger was a man. Given that so was he. The end had always been in sight, always looming. And now he knew how it felt, too. 

But it was so tempting. 

So tempting to forget all that, for the moment, and run toward the inevitable abyss with foolish abandon anyway. 

No, Freddie thought. The problem wasn't that, eventually, he would fall. 

It was that he had fallen already. 

So then, what point was there in trying to save himself at all? 

Freddie tilted his head up, and Roger didn't hesitate. 

It felt like the warmth of his lips radiated straight to Freddie's heart, making it beat with renewed fervor. He felt Roger's hand in his hair, his thumb stroking his cheek, and moaned softly into his mouth as the kiss deepened. He thought back to the previous night, for what felt like the millionth time. 

_I love you._

_I love you, too._

It was alright. Roger would never know, and Freddie would always remember that, in a way, those words had been said. Just the once. And if he felt particularly wistful he could pretend that, in that moment, they had both meant them. 

Roger pulled away, slowly, between lingering soft kisses, all lips and sweetly innocent. He leaned his forehead against Freddie's, their fingers now firmly entwined. 

"Will you come over?" 

Freddie hummed quietly. He had half expected the question, and half hoped Roger wouldn't ask. Not tonight. He was so tired. He felt like he was suffering from an emotional and an actual hangover. 

"I don't know," he said, gazing down his nose at Roger's lips and feeling like he was letting him down, "I'm sorry." 

"No, I... Christ, please don't be sorry." Roger smiled a little and let go of his hand, sliding his arm around Freddie's waist as he nestled his head into Freddie's neck. "I didn't actually mean it... like that..." he trailed off and Freddie lay a hand on Roger's back, between his shoulder blades, surprised at how _soft_ he seemed, all of a sudden.

"Oh... right." 

"Yeah, I feel pretty rough," Roger sighed, and hesitated before he continued, "I was just wondering if... if you'd maybe like to come over anyway. Just to hang out, you know. And maybe sleep over," he added very quietly. 

Freddie had started to stroke Roger's back gingerly, but his hand stopped moving as he considered the proposal. He realised it when Roger seemed to notice, too, and immediately changed course. 

"Is that a bit weird? I'm sorry, it's fine if you don't want to, don't worry about it-" 

"No," Freddie turned his head a little, his lips brushing against Roger's hair as he spoke. "I-I'd like that." 

"But?" Roger asked. 

Freddie chuckled. "But nothing." 

"Oh," the younger man seemed pleasantly surprised, relieved even, "okay, yeah. Great." 

It wasn't weird, was it? Freddie wondered. He had hung out at Roger's house plenty of evenings before. Of course, those evenings hadn't usually included spending the night cuddled up in bed together. 

"I just have to stop by my house first and get a few things."

Roger lifted his head up, smiling at him. "You do that, I'll go get Chinese from that place round the corner from yours."

Freddie smiled back. "Sounds like a plan."

It was hard to remember not to hold hands as they left the market, and headed for Freddie's flatshare together. 

\- - - 

"How can you drink?" Freddie asked incredulously, sitting on the floor of Roger's room beside him, the leftovers of their take away meal spread out in front of them. " _Again_?" 

Roger took a large swig from his bottle of lager, smacked his lips with a contented 'ahh' and demonstratively burped. Freddie snorted and shook his head. 

"Hair of the dog, innit," Roger said with a small grin, affecting a Cockney accent, and reached for his matches to light a cigarette he had tucked behind his ear earlier. 

"My god, I've had too much, I'm literally bursting out of these trousers," Freddie declared as he leaned back against the bed and undid the top button. 

"Lardarse," Roger teased, because it was so hilariously untrue.

Freddie's eyes snapped to him, a mock offended expression on his face. "Watch your mouth, my dear, or I'll sit on you." 

"Pffft!"

Roger had accidentally snorted some of the beer he was drinking. 

"Thought you weren't in the mood," he retorted with a playful wink, and watched Freddie turn away, grinning sheepishly.  
Roger leaned his head back onto the bed and looked out of the window, watching the street lamp outside flicker as he took another swig from the bottle. The beer was actually helping, he thought. He finally no longer felt nauseous and his head had stopped hurting. He was relaxed. Pleasantly tired. Mellow.  
That is, until Freddie said something, quite out of the blue, which caught him off guard. 

"So what did Brian say?" 

Roger froze with the cigarette halfway to his lips. "Uhh... What do you mean?" 

What with everything else, he hadn't really stopped to think about the fact that Brian pretty much _knew_ now, because he had pretty much _told him_ , and Freddie had no idea. Roger realised that this didn't bode well for him. 

"Oh, I don't know, I just..." Freddie turned toward him a little, and Roger could feel his eyes on him. "I get this awful feeling that he's trying to suss us out, sometimes, don't you?" 

Roger stalled, taking a long drag from his cigarette and sipping his beer, while he considered his options. There were really only two. 

Come clean, and risk Freddie's justified anger. Again. 

Or lie.

One of those options was far more appealing than the other. 

Brian was good at keeping secrets, Roger thought. He had promised not to tell anyone. Hopefully that included Freddie. He'd just have to remember to tell Brian that. 

"Nahh..." he heard himself say, pulling a face as if Freddie had said something completely ridiculous, without really looking at him. "Don't worry. He didn't say anything, really, just figured I said something stupid to you." 

"Hmm," Freddie seemed to mull it over. Roger finished his beer and desperately hoped that he was getting away with this. 

"I worry," Freddie sighed, and Roger breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Yeah, too bloody much," he told him, glancing over at him with a little smile.

"So you say," Freddie smiled back sadly, "but I don't want this to ruin our lives. I don't want it to ruin _yours_ , to be honest, it's not as if there's an awful lot to ruin in mine," he added with a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. 

At that, Roger finally turned to look at him properly. Freddie was sitting with one leg outstretched, the other pulled up close to his body, absentmindedly gazing at his toes as he flexed his foot, shoulders a little slouched and his arms crossed over his chest. His lips were parted slightly, front teeth protruding. It wasn't that he looked sad, Roger thought. 

Just... lost. 

In thought, more than anything, but Roger had an idea what those thoughts were and he didn't want him to disappear into that mire of self-doubt. Perhaps a little selfishly, he wanted him right here, in this moment. 

Roger stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and scooted closer until their shoulders touched, reaching for one of his hands. 

"Well, I don't want anything to ruin _this_ ," he said, and turned his face into locks of dark hair, pressing his lips to Freddie's cheek when he tilted his head slightly. "That's all _I_ 'm worried about." 

"Aren't you a treasure," Freddie lowered his head onto his shoulder, his tone carrying genuine emotion even though his words were a little facetious. 

Roger bit his lip, glancing down at the other man, and uttered a thought which came to mind before he had too much time to think better of it. 

"See, I'm a good boyfriend _some_ times." 

As the words left his mouth, his heart skipped a beat and then immediately picked up pace, even though he'd made sure to say it in a way where he could play it off as a joke. 

Freddie laughed softly. 

Alright then. Well, Freddie clearly thought it was a joke. Maybe it was better that way. It was a bit ridiculous, really, wasn't it? Two blokes being _boyfriends_. It sounded all wrong. He'd just wanted to try it out, see how it rolled off his tongue. The problem was, much as his mind protested, his heart was of a different opinion altogether.  
But Freddie was laughing at him. 

Oh well. 

" _Boyfriend_ ," Freddie said eventually, a little bewildered. It was almost a question, but not quite. It sounded as if he wasn't sure that Roger really knew what he had just said. 

"Yeah." Roger licked his lips. Christ, why was he so nervous, all of a sudden? "I mean, the word 'friend' is still in there, so..."

He realised mid-sentence that he had no idea where exactly he was going with this. 

"What?" Freddie lifted his head and looked at him, rightfully confused.

"I don't know!" Roger frowned down at Freddie's hand in his. "I just- I mean, I'm pretty sure if you were a girl you'd be my girlfriend." 

He cast a brief glance up at Freddie's face, eyes scanning his expression, which was completely unreadable. As was his tone when he spoke. 

"I'm not a girl." 

"Yeah, I _know_ that," Roger huffed, feeling ridiculous. 

Freddie took his hand in both of his and lifted it up to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles. Surprised by the tender gesture, Roger looked up again and locked eyes with him properly. There was a melancholic sort of smile on his lips. 

"It's a sweet idea," Freddie said quietly, and let go of his hand, cupping his cheek instead. 'But not a reality', was what he didn't say. Roger heard it nonetheless. They leaned in at the same time, lips parting as they met in the middle and melted into each other. 

Well, why not? Roger thought stubbornly, even though he knew why. 

Freddie wasn't a girl. And Roger was never going to hold his hand walking down the street. He was never going to put his arm around him at the cinema or lean over the table to kiss him at a restaurant. He'd never introduce him as his boyfriend at parties. They were never going to spend Christmas at each other's parents' homes, snog on the dance floor or secretly wonder what growing old together might be like.

It was then that Roger knew why Freddie's smile had looked sad. 

But it was more than that, wasn't it? Boyfriends, girlfriends. Being together. It meant being _taken_ , being somebody's, and having someone who was yours.

Only yours. 

Roger didn't think Freddie had really understood him at all, in that way. But he couldn't find the words to tell him that.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a little anecdote to share. I was browsing IG on my phone and a friend looked over my shoulder. I follow the Froger hashtag, so she saw this:
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s64.photobucket.com/user/nastally/media/Screenshot_20190705-214314.jpg.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Friend: Ohh, is that Freddie Mercury's girlfriend??  
> Me: ... [internally squealing]  
> Me: Why, yes. Yes, it is.
> 
> Ahahah! You know, I honestly didn't believe Roger was mistaken for a girl as much as everyone says he was until that happened. Poor beautiful baby.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loss of innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! I really appreciate it.

\- - - 

"I have to get up," Freddie groaned into the pillow, for the third time in twenty minutes, squinting past Roger's messy head of hair to make out the alarm clock. Getting out of bed was always a struggle, more so when it was Roger's bed. They were both as bad as each other when it came to early mornings. 

"I have to get a second pillow," Roger mumbled through a yawn, wrapping a heavy arm around Freddie's middle.  
Freddie lifted his head a little, shoving the pillow in his general direction. 

"Too late _now_ ," Roger grunted, making him chuckle. 

"Sorry." 

"S'okay." 

It was never entirely comfortable sleeping in the small single bed together, although they were both skinny enough to make it work. But Freddie secretly loved it, to the point where he had started to feel lonely sleeping in his own bed when he was home. Without Roger's breath on his shoulder, the occasional elbow to the ribs and a warm body to wrap his arms around. And he did just that, sliding his arms around Roger in return and pulling him flush against himself. 

Roger hummed, lazily stroking Freddie's back. "Counter suggestion. You could just stay." 

"I have class." 

"Yeah, but here's a wild idea," Roger whispered into his ear, quite deliberately pressing his crotch into him, "you could _not go_." 

Well, he'd clearly slept off the hangover. 

"I'll be back tonight," Freddie promised, squeezing Roger's arse through his pyjama shorts. 

"But I'm horny _now_ ," Roger whined, "Come on, man, it's been something like... three days. I think that's a record." 

Freddie snorted with laughter, trying to disentangle himself from his-

Well, _boyfriend_ , apparently.  
Freddie immediately shook the intruding thought. 

"You'll survive." 

"It'll be quick," Roger pleaded. "Super quick." 

"I have to shower." 

"Five minutes. Two! Pretty sure I can be done in two minutes, if you-" the younger man lifted a hand to his mouth and mimed a blowjob, waggling his eyebrows with a dirty little smirk. Freddie rolled his eyes with a grin. 

"Dearie me! How could I possibly resist _that_?" 

He climbed on top of Roger, who promptly grabbed on to his hips, biting his lower lip as he looked up at him from beneath his lashes. Well now. He really _was_ in the mood. But then, what else was new?  
Freddie wiggled on top of Roger's dick a little, his grin widening as Roger's eyelids fluttered and he let out a soft moan. It was nice to be so desired. _Nice_ being an understatement, and my god, it really was tempting but he really did have to go. 

"Tonight, lovvie," Freddie murmured and pressed a brief kiss to Roger's lips before he climbed off him and out of bed. 

"Tease," Roger complained and pouted for effect as he reluctantly released him. 

Freddie stretched and threw a flirtatious glance back over his shoulder on his way to the door. He leaned against it, listening carefully. They were _trying_ to tip toe around Roger's flatmates, although Freddie would have been surprised if they hadn't noticed him hanging around the house for the better part of two weeks. Still, it was better to be careful and refrain from making his presence known where he could, he figured.  
However, all was quiet in the living room. Freddie carefully opened the door and made his way to the bathroom. 

\- - - 

Roger lay in bed, listening to the bins being emptied outside, the continuous sound of doors falling into locks and hurried footsteps as people rushed off to start the working week.  
But as the bin lorry pulled away, Roger became aware of his flatmates' voices in the living room. He listened carefully to the jangle of keys and the door opening. Roger broke into a slow grin, chewing one of his nails as he listened. 

"Oh, come on, do us a solid," he murmured to himself, willing them to hurry up. "Go, go, go. Go. Gooo..." 

The sound changed as their voices moved out onto the landing and, at last, the door closed. 

Fuck _yes_.

Roger's grin widened. He threw back the duvet and jumped out of bed, leaping over a pile of discarded clothes on his way to the door. He landed awkwardly on a shoe, twisting his ankle slightly, and shook it off, hopping the rest of the way into the living room. This resulted in him colliding with the side of the couch, which knocked him off balance. Grabbing on to the backrest, Roger caught himself. His eyes fell on a wallet lying on the couch, which surely didn't belong there. Without giving it much thought, he picked it up and chucked it onto the coffee table where its rightful owner would have an easier time spotting it. Then he pushed himself off and bounded up to the bathroom door. 

The shower was running. 

Buzzing with childlike excitement - mostly at the prospect of scaring the shit out of Freddie - Roger opened the door, for once thankful for the broken latch, and snuck inside. Creeping up to the shower curtain, all but holding his breath to refrain from giggling like a maniac, Roger drew the curtain back quickly and raised his hand as though holding a knife, _a la_ Hitchcock. Freddie jumped and whipped around with a loud shriek, dropping the soap, and Roger broke out in hysterical laughter. 

"Roger, _what the fuck_!" 

"Oh Jesus, fuck me!" he wheezed, "That was so worth it!" 

"What are you _doing_?!" 

"It's okay, it's okay," Roger managed, waving a hand and trying to breathe, "They're not home." 

"You stupid arse, I almost had a heart attack!" Freddie glared at him indignantly. 

"I know, it was brilliant," Roger wiped his eyes. 

" _Fuck you_." Freddie said emphatically, although he was starting to smile as well. Then he quirked an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "Wait, what do you think you're doing?" 

Roger was stripping off his pyjamas. "What does it look like I'm doing?" 

"Roger, no." 

"Frederick, _yes_. You're just gonna use up all the hot water again. I have to shower, too, you know!" 

"But there's no fucking space, are you serious right now-" 

Roger climbed into the shower, which was so tiny he had to put an arm around Freddie just to make sure neither of them fell out. Freddie accidentally stepped on Roger's foot, Roger tried to get out of the way and their knees bumped awkwardly. Freddie turned and leaned against the hot tap, jerking away and smacking Roger in the stomach in the process. They were both laughing now. 

"This is _the worst_ idea!" Freddie complained, snickering. "I can't even reach the bloody soap."

"I'll get it!" Roger said cheerfully and lowered himself until he could reach the bottom of the shower, all the while holding on to Freddie, sliding down his front while his hand slid across his back, then his arse and the back of his thigh. Meanwhile, his face was inches from Freddie's crotch, which Roger couldn't help but smirk at but pretended wasn't intentional at all. 

"Oh, I see how it is," Freddie said as Roger found the bar of soap at their feet and slowly came up again, chest to chest with him. 

"What?" he said innocently, all but batting his eyelashes (which was difficult to do, what with the water spraying every which way as it splashed down on Freddie's shoulders), "I'm just having a shower." 

He demonstratively soaped up his armpits and chest before moving on to Freddie's chest with the soap, his smile turning into a grin which was definitely anything but innocent. Freddie tilted his head to the side, looking back and forth between Roger's face and his hand, running up and down his torso. 

"You're determined to make me late." 

Roger met his eyes for a moment and reached behind him to turn the water off with his free hand. Then he put the soap away and wrapped his arms around Freddie's neck, rubbing himself against him. It was fun, the feeling of skin on skin, intensified by the water and lather. Sensual. _Sexy._  
Slowly, Roger proceeded to run his hands over every part of Freddie's body he could reach under the guise of soaping him up, narrowly avoiding his crotch. Teasing. Roger could feel Freddie getting hard against his inner thigh. That made two of them then.  
Freddie's lips parted, his breath coming a little faster now. Roger knew he had already won. 

"I can stop," he offered lightly while one of his hands returned to Freddie's chest, fingers drawing small circles over a nipple. "Want me to stop?" 

Freddie just sighed and draped his arms around Roger's neck, eyes falling shut for a moment.

"I don't know how people do this in the shower," he said quietly, his voice huskier than before, "seems awfully uncomfortable to me." 

"Well," Roger gave him a little smirk, raising an eyebrow. "From my experience it goes something like this." 

He grabbed Freddie's thigh, pulling his leg up to his hip as he backed him into the tiled wall. Freddie chuckled breathily, trying to keep his balance. 

"Not sure your experience is much use here," he noted cheekily. This was true, of course, there wasn't much of anything they could do in this position, but Roger wasn't really being serious and Freddie knew that, too. 

"Hmm, or something like... this," Roger murmured, releasing his thigh as he firmly took a hold of his hips instead. Then he turned Freddie around and pushed him into the wall, playfully rough. Freddie made a surprised noise, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, allowing himself to be manhandled. But as it happened, Roger felt the mood of the moment shift. The flirtatious humour gave way to a glimpse of something altogether more intangible and darker. Raising one hand to Freddie's shoulder, Roger brushed away wet strands of hair and kissed the exposed skin at the nape of Freddie's neck as he pressed the weight of his body into him.  
Freddie shivered. 

"This working for you?" Roger murmured against his shoulder. His hips bucked almost of their own accord, one knee nudging Freddie's legs apart, his dick rubbing up against Freddie's arse. "Cause I think it's working for me..." 

He was still joking, of course. 

Wasn't he? 

Instead of a reply, Freddie made that throaty, almost catlike sound which Roger adored and braced himself against the wall. Roger looked down, watching as his hips rocked against Freddie's arse. Watching his cock rub up against him. The soapy lather they were covered in made it feel so good. His heart was racing, the hot tingle of excitement running through him like electric current as he squeezed Freddie's hips and grazed his skin with his nails. Not for the first time in these last few weeks, a thought crossed Roger's mind. Not so much a thought even, but a _desire_ , the very idea so unbearably arousing that it made him moan quietly. But he was a hypocrite, he thought, because if Freddie were to suggest the same to him, in reverse, he didn't know that he would agree. Why, then, would Freddie? 

And yet...

Roger's hand moved from Freddie's hip around to his front and between his legs, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking him lightly. Freddie gave a low, delighted moan, arching his back, pushing his arse into him to create more space between himself and the wall, and oh fuck, _that_ definitely wasn't helping. Roger leaned in to lick and nibble at Freddie's ear as he tightened his grip, increasing the rhythm. All the while grinding himself against Freddie's arse, right there. He imagined what might happen if he angled himself just right. It seemed like it would be so easy. A low moan escaped him as he closed his eyes for a moment and imagined fucking Freddie against the wall, slow and deep.

Oh, _Jesus_. 

Roger's knees felt weak, all of a sudden. His dick ached. The sounds Freddie was making sent shivers down his spine. He didn't know how his other hand had ended up on Freddie's arse, but there it was, massaging one of his buttocks. What was he _doing_? He hadn't planned for his fingers to edge ever closer to Freddie's middle, but they were, greatly aided by the lather all over their bodies. It was so easy to slip and not-quite-accidentally brush past somewhere he probably shouldn't. Surely, Freddie would just tell him to stop any moment now or push his hand away, and that would be the end of that, he thought. No harm done. 

Freddie had definitely noticed. He stilled, no longer thrusting into Roger's hand, and pressed his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, gasps of hot breath against the cool tiles. Roger slowed right down, both his hand on Freddie's dick and his hips, rocking against him, even though he was desparate for the friction. He moved to the side just a little, his focus entirely on how close his fingers were getting to their goal. Until his middle finger lightly brushed the rim and Freddie made a breathless keening sound, arching his back a little more. Roger's heart was pounding so fast he felt light-headed. He dragged his lips across Freddie's shoulder and pressed his face into his neck, eyes falling shut. He all but held his breath, drawing circles with the tip of his finger, caressing the tight ring of muscle, and slowly, oh so slowly increasing the pressure. Freddie pushed back against his hand with a soft moan. Ever so slightly, but noticeably enough. 

Wow, _okay_. 

Roger hesitated just briefly, nervous and excited all at once, and then eased his finger into him.  
Freddie moaned louder this time, his fingertips seeking purchase on the smooth tiles. 

" _Fuck_ ," Roger mouthed against his skin. He was so turned on he figured there was a real chance he might come just humping Freddie like this, his imagination running wild. He felt Freddie's head turn toward him and their lips collided in a messy kiss, tongues dancing wildly and pushing into each other's mouths. Meanwhile, Roger had begun to move his hands in time with each other, fingering Freddie as he tossed him off, making him moan into the kiss until they had to break apart because the angle was starting to become too uncomfortable. They gazed at each other for a moment and Jesus, fuck, Roger thought, Freddie had never looked hotter. Strands of wet hair plastered to his face, panting through swollen, pink lips and eyes dark as night and brimming with desire. Then Freddie closed his eyes again and pressed his cheek to the wall, moaning loudly, and it took every ounce of common sense Roger had left not to grab him by the hips and bury himself inside him balls deep that very moment.  
If only he could get the words out. 'I want to- Please, can I- Will you let me-' 

"Freddie-"

Was all he managed to say, his voice strained and urgent. But the response was his wildest dreams come true. One of Freddie's hands slid off the wall, reaching behind him and taking a firm hold of Roger's dick. Roger made an embarrassingly desperate sound. This whole time Freddie hadn't laid a hand on him, not until now, yet he was so hard it hurt. 

"Bed," Freddie breathed, and cried out when Roger bit down on his shoulder with a low growl.

The way to the bedroom was a blur. Roger let go of Freddie and pulled away as he turned the shower back on, and then Freddie was facing him, his arms around his neck, kissing him aggressively under the running water. This was happening, Roger thought, feeling delirious, his hands on Freddie's arse. He was going to fuck Freddie and it was going to be incredible.  
Their hands were all over each other, pulling greedily, squeezing and nails digging into soft skin. The water was too cold, then too hot, but neither of them took much notice.  
They left a trail of wet footsteps on their way to Roger's room, dripping all over the living room carpet, discarding the towel halfway, just outside the room.  
Roger pulled Freddie into his room by the hand, kicked the door shut and returned to kissing him as though Freddie was the oxygen he needed to live. They broke apart to climb onto the bed, both gasping for breath, and their eyes met. Freddie moaned and collapsed onto his elbows, watching Roger lean over him. 

"God, Roger, I love it when you look at me like that," he murmured. 

"Like what?" Roger asked, supporting himself with one hand as he lifted the other to Freddie's jaw, dipping down to lick and suck on his neck. 

"Like you're gonna fucking tear me apart," Freddie breathed, his voice breaking on the last word. Roger lowered himself a little, mouthing at the smooth skin along Freddie's collar bone, before he moved toward a nipple and sucked hard. Meanwhile, his hand had found the other, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. 

"Oh my _god_ , fuck!" Freddie whined, throwing his head back. It was just as well no one was home. They didn't often have the opportunity to not give a single damn about how loud they were being, and Roger loved it.  
He kept his hand where it was, toying with Freddie's nipple, while he lowered himself further and licked his lips, staring at Freddie's hard dick resting against his abdomen. The sound Freddie made when he sucked the head into his mouth and bobbed up and down all but made him drip. Jesus fucking _Christ_ , he wanted him so much he was going to lose it. However, _that_ part, the _sex_ sex part, was something he'd only ever done with girls. And there was usually a whole bunch of getting them good and ready for it involved, most of the time, so he felt strange about just diving _right in_ , as it were. A part of him was still in disbelief that Freddie was really going to let him do it _at all_. That was, until Freddie lifted his head back up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes half-hooded. 

"Listen," he choked out between moans, his voice desperate and unsteady, "are you gonna fuck me _or what_?" 

Roger was back on top of him in less than two seconds, plunging his tongue into Freddie's mouth as if he wanted to taste the words he had just uttered. 

"I want you-" he all but growled against Freddie's lips as they pulled apart, "so _fucking_ much." They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, the underlying uncertainty drowned out by desire and anticipation.

"Turn around," Roger whispered and sat up, giving him space to move as Freddie rolled over onto his stomach. Roger gazed down at him, feeling lost for a moment. _Now_ his mind decided to point out that this was his first time doing this, but more importantly, it was Freddie's first time.

 _It was Freddie's first time_. The thought stirred something in him, softening the raw, visceral lust he felt. Roger settled down between Freddie's legs and lay his hands on Freddie's back, stroking his shoulders, then his lower back. As his hands reached Freddie's arse, Roger leaned down and kissed a trail along Freddie's spine down to his tailbone. Freddie shivered at the sensation of Roger's lips and hot breath in places he wasn't used to. But Roger didn't stop there. He didn't think about it, really. It sort of felt like the obvious thing to do, now that he was here, and so he spread Freddie's buttocks apart a little and let his tongue dart out. Freddie gasped, evidently not having expected it, but by the third or fourth lick Roger heard him moan. Before long, Freddie was arching his back and humping the bed needily, making breathy mewling sounds. 

"Ahh... ah, _god_ , that... that's... really good," he moaned into the pillow, sounding surprised at himself. 

Roger just hummed, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Freddie's formidable, perfectly-shaped arse. His other hand was between his own legs, stroking himself slowly. He wanted so much to go faster, but knew that if he did, he'd be on the edge in less than a minute. In fact, he really couldn't wait any longer.  
Roger sat back on his haunches and brushed damp strands of hair out of his face. He felt dizzy. 

So. 

This was it, then.

He spat into his hand and spread the saliva over his dick, steadying himself with one hand while he propped himself up with the other. He glanced down, barely able to breathe from sheer excitement as he positioned himself. But the moment he tried to push forward, Freddie made a startled, pained noise, something between a gasp and a whimper. One of his hands flew up to Roger's hip, stilling his movement.  
Roger stopped in his tracks. 

"Sorry," he murmured. Oh shit, maybe this wasn't as easy as it had seemed.

Freddie's fingers tightened on his hip before he could pull away. "Keep going," he breathed, his voice barely there.

"Sure?" Roger asked uncertainly, stroking Freddie's hip. 

"Mhm." 

Not 'yes' or 'it's okay', just a strained little hum of confirmation. Roger hesitated, feeling conflicted. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Freddie. But dear god, he wanted this so much. And Freddie was giving him the go ahead.  
Roger swallowed thickly and tried again, as carefully and slowly as he could. This time Freddie made no sound of protest, in fact he made no sound at all. Roger watched his cock disappear into the other man's body in awe. Oh Jesus, _fuck_. A shuddering moan escaped him. The sensation was much the same as he was used to, but so tight, so very tight it almost hurt. Freddie started panting - short, sharp gasps, irregular and rapid - and Roger realised he had been holding his breath. _Was_ he hurting him? 

Roger stopped halfway. 

"You okay?" he managed, his voice unsteady as he forced himself to hold still, wanting to move so much it was torture. 

"Fine," Came the reply, except Freddie didn't sound fine. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Roger lowered himself down on top of him fully, enveloping him in his arms as he covered Freddie's shoulders and the nape of his neck in tender kisses and gently stroked his side, while slowly pushing all the way in. Freddie made a strangled sound. His hand released Roger's hip and fell to the bed, grabbing on to the sheets.  
Breathing hard, Roger pulled back and slowly thrust back inside. He moaned, biting his lip while Freddie drew a shuddering breath, his thighs quivering. Reaching down with one hand, Roger caressed the side of Freddie's thigh as he continued to move slowly, unable to keep quiet even if he'd tried. Holy _fuck_. It felt so incredible on every level. Except he could take the excruciatingly slow pace no longer. He rolled his hips, drawing a gasp from both of them. 

Jesus fucking Christ, there was no way he was going to last more than a few minutes at this rate. 

"Ahh, _fuck_ ," Roger moaned into damp locks of dark hair, sliding a hand over the top of Freddie's and intertwining their fingers as he began to fuck Freddie in earnest, harder and faster. "You feel so amazing, oh Freddie, oh shit, oh my _god_ -"

\- - - 

Freddie pressed his face into the pillow, clinging on to Roger's hand for dear life, his other hand clutching at the sheets. Roger's weight pinned him down, hot breath on the back of his neck, moans and words of pleasure mouthed against his ear. Meanwhile, Freddie felt like he couldn't move, he could hardly _breathe_. Whatever he had expected, and the truth was he hadn't really known at all what to expect, the reality of Roger inside him, thrusting into him, was utterly overwhelming. It was like nothing he had ever felt before.  
What Roger had done to him earlier, in the shower, hadn't hurt at all. In fact, it had felt surprisingly amazing, making him think that this wasn't going to be much different. 

It was different alright. _Really_ different. 

For one, it really fucking _hurt_. A burning pain that took his breath away, somewhat negated by how incredibly turned on he was and by Roger's gentle caresses, making it just about bearable. But thankfully, after a little while, some of the pain had subsided, leaving him with an indescribable feeling that had him trembling and all but in tears, completely at Roger's mercy. 

"Ohhyeah, ah, fuck yeah," Roger groaned, one hand gripping his hip tightly. He pushed Freddie's legs further apart, his hips hitting Freddie's arse hard now, and Freddie barely knew what to do with himself. It was too much and it wasn't enough. He didn't know when he had started pushing himself back against Roger, completely losing himself in the moment, the pain mingled with pleasure, the feeling of surrender. 

"Oh god, oh my god, oh god, ah, _ahh_ -" he whined, over and over, until Roger's rhythm became erratic and his fingers dug into Freddie's hand. Roger groaned loudly through gritted teeth, hips slamming into Freddie's arse again and again. It hurt, but Freddie barely cared. There was something unfathomably breathtaking about Roger coming inside him. He wasn't able to understand nor describe it on a rational level, but Freddie knew a part of him - the part which was a whimpering, quaking mess - fucking _loved_ it. 

Roger collapsed on top of him like a dead weight, and for a long few moments, neither of them so much as lifted a finger. Freddie could feel the aftershocks coursing through Roger's body and listened to his ragged breathing, unable to form a single coherent thought. 

Eventually, Roger lifted himself up and pulled out, rolling off him and onto his back beside him. Neither of them said anything for a very long time. 

So. 

That was sex. 

Freddie felt Roger's knuckles brush his shoulder, a gentle caress. He turned his head, meeting his bright, blue eyes. And still neither of them spoke as they simply gazed at each other's faces. Minutes passed. 

"You alright?" Roger finally said, his voice hoarse. 

"Yeah," Freddie replied, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Roger seemed relieved to see it and smiled back, then grimaced a little. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm better at this, usually." 

Freddie raised his eyebrows slightly. "It wasn't that bad..." 

That clearly wasn't the reassurance Roger had hoped for. He looked fairly dismayed, for a moment. 

"Oh shit, okay," he turned to stare at the ceiling, running a hand over his face, "I'm _really_ sorry then."

"Don't be," Freddie said quietly, the smile still on his lips. He lifted a hand and laid it over Roger's heart, fingertips stroking his skin. "It was... it was sort of incredible. As in... I can't believe that happened."

Roger chuckled. "Yeah. Me neither." 

He took Freddie's hand, pulling him close and sliding one arm under his head. Freddie shifted onto his side, resting his head on Roger's shoulder while their legs tangled. 

Roger's hand grazed his hip, his lips brushing Freddie's hair as he spoke. 

"Um... Do you want me to...?" 

"Oh," Freddie hadn't even thought about it, he felt so overwhelmed. "No, it's fine." 

Roger's hand lingered uncertainly. "Are you sure? I mean, you didn't... " 

"Don't worry," Freddie tilted his head up and kissed Roger's jaw, taking his hand in his own and giving it a little squeeze. "Really." 

All the adrenaline had drained out of him. He felt sore and heavy, and a little bit as though he needed some time to process this. 

"Okay," Roger pressed his cheek against the top of Freddie's head and hugged him closer. "But just so you know, I think I owe you at least half a dozen amazing blowjobs now, so." 

Freddie laughed quietly and wrapped his arms around Roger in return. "I'll keep that in mind." 

They fell silent again and held each other tightly for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Freddie felt Roger draw a breath as though he wanted to say something. He hesitated, then exhaled, then drew another breath. 

"Freddie," he said at last. 

"Yes, dear." 

\- - - 

Roger held Freddie in his arms and stared at the worn The Who poster above his record player, holding a breath which was reserved for the words he wanted to say.  
But he couldn't.  
He couldn't say them. 

_I love you_. 

So simple, three simple words. 

It was true. 

It was obvious, really.  
It always had been, now that he thought about it. He didn't know how he hadn't realised sooner, but there was the fact that men didn't love each other that way, his mind said.

Except he did, his heart pointed out. He did love Freddie. 

_I love you._

But Freddie had laughed at him when he'd so much as brought up the word boyfriend, and he'd made the whole friends first thing very clear. 

There was no coming back from _I love you_. There was no friends first after _I love you_. There would be no more Freddie in his life if he screwed this up and made things awkward. 

Maybe it was just the post-coital bliss talking. 

He knew it wasn't. 

_I love you._

Fuck it. Fuck everything. 

Just say it. Say it anyway. 

"I-" Roger panicked. He blinked and pulled away, sitting up on the bed. "I'm gonna get some water, do you want some?" 

Freddie was looking at him a little strangely. "Sure," he said slowly, "thanks."

"Okay." 

As casually as he could, Roger climbed out of bed and found last night's trousers on the floor, pulling them on hastily.

"Be right back," he muttered, and headed for the door. 

Coward. 

Mulling over the situation, he didn't notice it until he was returning from the kitchen with two glasses of water, but then it stopped him in his tracks. His towel was draped over the back of couch. The same towel he remembered dropping on the way to the bedroom. An uneasy feeling took hold in the pit of his stomach. Roger frowned and slowly stepped closer, a worrying thought crossing his mind. His eyes wandered over to the coffee table and his suspicion was confirmed. The wallet he had so carelessly tossed there earlier was gone. 

Shit. 

Someone had come home to get it. He hadn't even heard-

Well, to be fair, he'd been pretty distracted. 

So what? he thought, trying to shrug it off. Big deal. So Christian or Brigitte had popped in and popped back out. That didn't mean they'd... heard... anything. Right? And even if they had, so fucking what? What he got up to in his room was his business.  
Always had been. 

Right, nothing to worry about, Roger tried to convince himself. But the uneasy feeling in his stomach refused to budge. 

Roger took a deep breath and looked at the door to his room. Quit it, he told himself, it's fine. Honestly, Freddie was making him paranoid with all his worrying. 

There was no way he was uttering a word of this to him. It would only make him worry _even more._

With that thought in mind, Roger shook his head, blowing a strand of hair out of his face, and returned to his room deliberately cheerful.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm just going to straight up beg for comments on this one. It was a long time coming and I tried my hardest to do it justice in terms of realism, sexiness and emotional impact. Did I do it? Did you like it? Did I get the balance right??
> 
> PLEASE let me know! Even if it's just a thumbs up!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love. Simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, you guys! Over 100.000 words. I am shook, I had no idea I was capable of writing something this long and I'm probably only two-thirds of the way through, if that. Haha! All thanks to the magic of Froger <3
> 
> I thank you all for your support, I love you all very much and your comments make my day!! You have no idea. Sometimes I think I might have abandoned this project long ago if it wasn't for all your continued enthusiasm and input. 
> 
> **Now, here are some interesting and disturbing historical facts:**
> 
> \- Relations between two men were decriminalised in England and Wales in 1967  
> \- The first gay rights activist group in the UK was formed in 1970  
> \- The '67 legalisation only applied to men over the age of 21, and private settings where no third person was present on the premises (so still illegal in public places, hotels, shared houses, etc.)  
> \- Comitting the crime of being gay, essentially, could result in prison sentences up to lifetime (yes, really, let that sink in for a moment)
> 
> And now we proceed with our story.

\- - - 

"What's your vote, Fred?" 

Freddie was chewing the end of his pencil, staring into the middle distance.

"Fred." 

Someone nudged him and he jumped, glancing around the group of third year Arts and Graphic Design students sat around the table, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered and felt his face flush when Lisa McDougall rolled her eyes, exchanging a look with Mike Krossnik. "I didn't- um- Come again?" 

"We're voting on slogans?" Gabrielle said helpfully, playing with a lock of her curly red hair beside him. "Lisa's or Ralph's?" 

"Oh, right."

"Well?" Lisa said, eyebrows raised, tapping her pencil impatiently. Freddie looked over at her, pulling his top lip over his teeth. He wanted to say Ralph's, because Lisa was a bitch, but hers _was_ better. 

"Yours," he murmured. Lisa leaned back, looking annoyingly pleased with herself. 

" _Alright_ then," Mike concluded, "that's four votes for Lisa. Can we get on with the poster design now?" 

"Shouldn't we talk about colour schemes first?" Freddie wondered. 

"Obviously," Lisa flipped her hair back with an air of annoyance, "which is why we went over that first thing on _Monday morning_. Gabi, can you-"

Grabrielle turned a few pages in her notebook before sliding it over to Freddie. 

"Thank you, dear," Freddie gave her a courteous nod and fell silent again, staring at the notes in front of him without really seeing them. 

He remembered Monday morning well. 

He remembered coming in late, missing Design History and also the group project meeting he had completely forgotten about. He remembered shifting uncomfortably in his seat for the remainder of the day, sore in places he'd never been so keenly aware of before and feeling as though everyone who looked at him surely _knew_ what he'd been up to. The irrational anxiety got so bad that he'd had to go and stand in front of the bathroom mirror for a while, reassuring himself that he didn't look any different.  
He might as well have missed the whole day, because the ability to focus had eluded him entirely. 

"...be great if everyone can come up with a concept by next Monday," Gabrielle was saying, and Freddie realised that he had spaced out again. 

_Shit_.

"Um, Monday the _latest_ ," Lisa looked mildly scandalised. "I'll probably have mine done by Friday, to be honest. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like we have a whole lot of time left."

"I'm with Lisa," Mike backed her up.

Freddie rolled his eyes. Of course he was. Those two were obviously doing it. 

"Me too," Ralph said, and Ralph never usually said anything. 

Perhaps she did have a point. 

"Then again, I suppose we'll be fine if everyone starts pulling their weight..." Lisa glanced around the group and her eyes landed on Freddie last. 

Freddie raised an eyebrow. "Friday's fine by me, darling." 

"Friday then," Gabrielle agreed with a shrug. 

"Can we all make a note of that," Lisa said lightly, getting out her calendar. "So none of us _forget_?" 

Freddie gave her a thin, disingenuine smile while doodling a hand with a raised middle finger in his own calendar. 

However, he knew there was truth in her thinly veiled accusations, and that was more annoying still. It had dawned on him on Monday - when his feet had taken him to Kensington Market on auto-pilot instead of home once he got off the tube - that he really needed to pull himself together. He wasn't entirely sure anymore how he had held down two part-time jobs, commuted from Feltham daily, stayed on top of his course work and found time for a social life not so long ago.  
The truth was, of course, that he had spent a lot of time alone in his room in the evenings in Feltham and his life had been a lot less... social.  
It suddenly hit him that it was mid-May, he was graduating in just over a month, and he hadn't so much as touched his dissertation in weeks. Not since moving to Kensington. Not since this whole thing with Roger had started, if he was honest. Nevermind the final group project and other assignments that would make up part of his grade. 

He was behind on all of it. To say his head hadn't been in the right place recently was a collosal understatement. These days, everything was excitement and emotion, and everything was Roger. 

Roger, who had given him his brightest, warmest smile when Freddie had arrived at their stall that Monday afternoon. 

"Hey! I've been thinking about you all day..."

"I can't hang out tonight," Freddie had blurted out, clutching the strap of his satchel bag, a look of mild panic on his face. 

And now, on Wednesday afternoon, his chances of spending any time with Roger this week were not looking any better. 

\- - - 

Roger finished loading the bass drum and climbed out through the back of the van, giving his back a stretch. Then he sat down on the edge of the open van and lit a cigarette, glancing around Imperial college campus. He watched the students, hanging out outside the various faculty buildings chatting or walking to their next class. He smiled at a pair of girls who walked by and gave him a curious glance, wondering if perhaps they recognised him from one of Smile's gigs at Imperial. 

It wasn't that he missed college. He really didn't. But he did miss the social aspect of it. He felt out of the loop, and frankly, a little isolated. In the last two weeks, he had barely spoken to anyone from his course. People he would have previously talked to daily and considered friends might as well have dropped off of the face of the earth. Everyone was busy with exams and that seemed to be all anyone wanted to talk about. Although he wouldn't really know what any of his former classmates talked about, really, because it had been easy enough to go for a pint together after classes, but no one was going to call him up and invite him out just for that. And he sure as hell wasn't going to start hanging out in their regular pub down the street from his college, because that would just be _sad_. 

Still, he wondered if he ever came up in conversation and if anyone was going to bother giving him a bell if there were any good parties happening at the end of term. 

He wondered if he really had as many friends as he had thought. 

Of course there were some groovy people at Kenny Market who he now knew pretty well and sometimes hung out with during cigarette breaks or at lunchtime, but it wasn't quite the same. 

The other thing he was starting to miss, and Roger hated to admit it to himself, was the structure college had provided. It turned out making your own schedule with no real obligations to adhere to was a bit of a pitfall. Roger had spent entirely too much time lounging around in bed or on the sofa, eating the previous night's leftovers for breakfast and cereal for dinner, and more often than anyone knew tossing off out of sheer boredom. The Friday they'd headed down to Brighton it hadn't seemed worth it even showing up at the market, just to leave early in the afternoon, and so that had been a glorious morning spent in a competition with himself to see exactly how many times in one morning-

Anyway, the answer was four.

It was alright, he told himself. This was just a transition period in his life. Once their single was released at the end of August everything was going to change. 

It wasn't even as if he had really stopped to think about any of this until this week, because spending time with Freddie had kept him entertained and distracted. 

But all of a sudden, Freddie was _busy_. 

He seemed genuinely stressed out about the course work he'd apparently been neglecting and Roger almost felt a little guilty. Almost.  
But for the most part, he rather selfishly wished bloody college hadn't got in the way of a good thing. 

They had only seen each other briefly on Monday afternoon, Fred hadn't so much as called him on Tuesday and now it was Wednesday afternoon and so far, not a word. Roger had a feeling he wouldn't be seeing him today, either. A part of him wanted to swing by Freddie's house, just to say hello. But that seemed a bit excessive. He wasn't usually the clingy type. It was just, he had got so used to having Freddie around most days, Roger thought. But he knew that the truth was a little scarier than that.  
It was almost comical, in fact. 

Cliché. 

Often throughout the day, he would catch himself just smiling and staring off into space for no damn reason, probably looking like a complete loon. Except, of course, there _was_ a reason.  
The thought of Freddie made the sun shine brighter.  
The world was a better place.  
Every love song made sense. 

Being with Freddie - just being around him - made him happy. Intensely and deeply _happy._

Simple as that. 

Kissing Freddie felt like being alive instead of simply existing. Sweeter than sweet, wilder than wild. Better than he remembered, every time, because memories could not do the euphoric technicolour reality of it justice. 

But that was love for you, Roger thought as he flicked the butt of his cigarette away. 

Love. 

Simple as that. 

Pete finally returned with two bottles of coke in hand.

"Cheers, mate," Roger gladly accepted the bottle and reached into his pocket to pop the cap off with his keys. 

"No problem, you owe me a shilling," Pete grinned. "Shall we?" 

"Let's." 

It was dinner time when Roger had finally successfully relocated his kit back to the corner of his room, where it was going to live for now until Brian sorted out a new rehearsal space. 

Feeling peckish, he made his way to the kitchen. Brigitte was cooking dinner. 

"Hi," he said casually, casting her a sideways glance. 

"'Ello Roger," the French girl replied, not looking up from the mushrooms she was dicing. 

No one had brought up Monday morning so far, and Roger sure as hell wasn't going to. Just one of those awkward flatsharing things, he figured. And anyway, he should probably be counting his lucky stars that one of them hadn't come home some fifteen minutes sooner and barged into the bathroom. Now that would've been a surprise and a half for everyone involved. To put it mildly. Roger caught himself grinning like an idiot at the memory as he stared into the open fridge, and quickly brought himself back to reality, grabbing the cheese and the pickle jar, before closed it again. 

While he was busy assembling his sandwich, the phone rang. Roger turned back over his shoulder so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. 

"I'll get it!" he announced quickly and licked some pickle juice off his fingers before dashing through to the living room. He leapt over the back of the couch and picked up the receiver, holding it with his shoulder while he wiped his hands on his trousers. 

"Hello?" 

"Roger!"

The grin was back. He couldn't do anything about it really. 

"Hi Fred, what's up?" 

"Are you busy?" 

"Busy waiting for you to call," Roger flirted. 

It was a joke and then again it wasn't. Either way, it threw Freddie for a moment. 

"Don't start, dear," he sighed, but Roger could hear the smile in his voice. "I need a favour."

\- - - 

The library had closed at six. Freddie was sitting on his bed cross-legged, his sketchpad in front of him and a frown on his face. He sat up straight for a moment and stretched his back with a groan. The floor would have been more comfortable, but there wasn't really enough space to arrange himself in the centre of the room. Besides, he didn't fancy being any closer to Kevin, who was buried in a pile of physics textbooks and tissues on his own bed, hacking up his lungs and blowing his nose loudly every few minutes. The music from the living room didn't bother Freddie particularly, but the very distinct sickly sweet smell of weed wafting in from under the door was getting to him. That, along with the loud voices and laughter, which seemed to be getting more annoying by the minute, was starting to make him wish a slow and torturous demise on everyone in this flat. 

His back was aching, the light was terrible, he felt nauseous and _fucking hell_ , it was simply impossible to work like this. 

He leaned down again, touching his pencil to the paper, when a loud shattering sound from the living room made him jump and the tip of the pencil broke. 

" _Fuck_!" 

Freddie turned to Kevin and they shared a brief look of commiseration while roars of laughter sounded outside, before the physics student sneezed and reached for another tissue. 

Freddie sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. He was _done_.

With a sudden determination, he reached for his satchel bag and started packing up. 

"Where are you off to?" Kevin inquired once he emerged from behind his tissue, sounding a little jealous. 

Freddie contemplated his pyjamas for a moment before folding them away neatly into the bag as well. 

"Someone else's house, dear, before I commit homicide." 

"Girlfriend?" Kevin asked quietly. 

Freddie paused and turned to him, wanting to say something along the lines of 'What makes you think-'  
But then he remembered how many nights he hadn't spent here, how often Kevin had seen him come and go with what was clearly an overnight bag and the probably fairly noticeable hickeys which graced his neck from time to time. 

"Yes," Freddie shrugged, suppressing a little smile. "I suppose."

"Must be nice," Kevin sniffed, giving him a small, good-natured smile. 

Freddie pulled his lips over his teeth and put the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

"Yeah," he said and shrugged sympathetically, nodding toward Kevin's textbooks, "best of luck, dear." 

\- - - 

Sitting propped up against the headboard with one leg dangling off the bed, Roger peered over the top of his music magazine. Watching Fred sketch was honestly more entertaining than the article he was trying to read.  
Whether Freddie realised it or not, Roger wasn't sure, but he was very animated when he was working on something. He was lying on the floor, on his front, propped up on his elbows over the large sketchpad. Legs bent at the knees and ankles crossed, he would periodically flex his bare feet, one and then the other, toes pointing at the ceiling. Then he would pause and rotate his wrist slowly, head tilted to one side. Or tap the end of his pencil against his chin, then chew on it, a frown on his face before his eyebrows suddenly shot up, lips pursed and the fingers of his left hand dancing, moving gracefully, as though instructing the other hand while he put his new idea to paper. 

It was too bad that Roger was under strict instructions not to _start anything_ , because he wanted to touch Freddie desperately. Whatever he tried to occupy himself with - and he'd gone as far as tidying his room for a bit - his eyes kept wandering to that strand of hair which was begging to be tucked away, Freddie's shoulders which he was sure could use a massage and every other part of him he was currently forbidden from touching. 

Roger had never been very good at resisting the temptation of forbidden fruit. And it showed. 

Very slowly, he stretched out his leg and scooted lower down on the bed, pointing his toes until he could reach the dip of Freddie's lower back. 

" _No_ ," Freddie said sternly the moment Roger's toes made contact with his back.

Roger sighed and dropped his foot back down to the floor. 

"Do you mind if I put on some music?" 

"Go ahead," Freddie mumbled, the end of his pen in his mouth, not looking up from his sketch. He took the pen out from between his teeth, tutted as he put it down and started erasing something furiously.

Roger lifted himself up with a groan and wandered over to the record player, browsing through his albums before settling on The Who Sell Out. 

"Not _that_ one," Freddie immediately complained as soon as the first track came on. 

"Hey," Roger turned around, hands on his hips, "listen here now. You take over my room with your arts and crafts project, you won't let me near you and now you think you've got veto rights on my LPs?" 

Freddie lifted his head, fixing him with a truly withering look. "Arts," he said slowly, "and crafts? You're not improving your chances for later, blondie." 

Roger broke into a grin, both at the nickname and the promise of _later_. 

"Didn't realise I was even in with a chance." 

"Not anymore, you're not," Freddie retorted sassily, biting back a smile. 

"Aww..." Roger pretended to pout and took the needle off the record, cutting Armenia City in the Sky short, "Fine, what do you want to listen to then?"

"Do you have anything classical?"

Roger gave the dark-haired man lying on his floor a mildly vexed look, even though he had turned away again. 

"You know I don't."

"I don't know, dear," Freddie gave a small shrug, "Maybe you've been holding out on me and hiding your refined side all this time."

Roger snorted. "Because I'm such a _pleb_." 

"Darling," Freddie sighed, "you don't have a favourite composer, you don't like musicals, ballet or opera..." 

"Oh, please," Roger dismissed him, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest, "Musicals aren't sophisticated. And no one under the age of forty actually likes opera." 

"I like opera," Freddie said distractedly, slowly tracing a line on the paper. "I wanted to be an opera singer when I was younger."

"Really!" 

Roger wasn't sure why he was so surprised because on second thought, that actually made perfect sense. 

"Or a ballet dancer," Freddie reminisced, smiling a little to himself and completely subconsciously, Roger was sure, pointing his left foot as he did. 

"Yeah, I can see that, actually." Roger said as he tilted his head to the side, an appraising look on his face. 

Now it was Freddie who seemed surprised and amused in equal measure. "Oh god, no," he raised his head, giving Roger an incredulous look, "No, dear, I would've been dreadful at it, I'm sure."

"I don't know," Roger shrugged, smiling down at him warmly, "you're very graceful." 

Freddie bit his lip, smiling a little, and turned back to his work, resting his cheek in his hand. 

"What's your favourite ballet?" Roger asked. "Do you have one?" 

"I do." 

"Well, what is it?" 

Freddie snorted quietly. " _Why_?" 

"Just curious." 

"Like you'd know it." 

"Educate me." 

"Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet," Freddie murmured, almost as though he was a little embarrassed about it. 

There was silence for a few moments, except for the sound of pencil on paper. Roger was looking at Freddie intently and racking his brains. Then he drew a breath. 

"See how he leans his cheek upon his hand," he said quietly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand..." 

Freddie stopped and turned to him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. 

"...to touch that cheek," Roger finished. 

"What the-" Freddie started. 

Roger interrupted him with a loud, dramatic gasp, clutching his chest with one hand. "He speaks! Oh, speak again, bright angel!" 

It was as far as he got before Freddie burst out laughing, which was just as well because he didn't remember the rest of the lines. 

"Community centre drama club," he said, over the top of Freddie's laughter, "I was Romeo one year, when I was fourteen."

"Of course you were," Freddie was catching his breath, still chuckling, "I'm sure you were wonderful."

Roger made a face. "Yeah... no, pretty sure I wasn't. I don't think acting is my strong suit, I just wanted to impress the girls." 

"Of course you did," Freddie sighed and rolled over onto his back, next to his unfinished sketch, resting the back of his hand against his forehead with his pencil still in hand. "Did it work?" 

"Yeah," Roger nodded, a lop-sided grin on his lips as he gazed into the middle distance for a moment or two, remembering. Then his eyes returned to Freddie and he took a step forward, lowering himself to the floor and sitting down beside him. 

"In fact... I think it's still working now," Roger informed him, feigning confidence even though he half-expected to be told off again when he reached out and ran his fingers over the small strip of skin where Freddie's shirt was riding up, exposing his stomach. 

"Rog..." 

The reproach in Freddie's voice was weakened by the twinkle in his eye. Roger slipped the tips of his fingers under Freddie's t-shirt and shifted into a lying position, propped up on one elbow. Freddie cast a glance toward his sketchpad and opened his mouth to protest. 

"Did my heart love till now?" Roger said softly, raising his eyebrows a little. Freddie's eyes snapped to him, a curious expression in them. He moved his hand away from his face when Roger leaned closer to him. 

"Forswear it, sight..."

Freddie looked down at Roger's lips for a moment, and Roger smiled a small, winning smile.

"...for I never saw true beauty till this night." 

"You silver tongued son of a bitch," Freddie murmured affectionately, lips parting in anticipation when Roger closed the distance and lightly brushed their lips against each other. Freddie's eyelids fluttered, his breathing suddenly a little uneven. 

"Thus, with a kiss, I die," Roger whispered and kissed him. It was passionate and it was tender. Roger sighed, sliding his hand under the other man's shirt, and Freddie dropped the pencil, threading his fingers through fair hair. 

Sweet. Technicolour. _Alive_. 

They kissed for a long time, trying and failing to separate several times over as every time a tantalising lick or lips brushing brought them crashing back together. When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily. Roger chuckled softly, his eyes roaming Freddie's face. 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist."

Freddie hummed and brought a hand to his cheek, tracing Roger's bottom lip with his thumb, a smile on his face, "I suppose it's my own fault for thinking I could get any work done... at my boyfriend's house." 

Roger's heart lurched so hard it took his breath away. It must have been written all over his face, because Freddie looked at him with a strange kind of awe. 

"Oh, lovvie," he breathed, taking Roger's face in both hands and pulling him down, their lips colliding with renewed fervour. Roger moved to lie on top of him, straddling him as the kiss grew more aggressive, teeth nearly clashing and Freddie's fingers tugging at his hair.

_Thus, with a kiss..._

Maybe Freddie had understood him at last. He hoped so. Wanted to believe it. 

' _Mine_ ,' Roger thought, shivering at the sounds Freddie made when Roger turned his affection to his throat, teeth and tongue and desire. 

' _Mine_ ,' as he clasped Freddie's hand tightly in his, rocking his hips, grinding against each other while Freddie decorated his neck with a matching set of love bites. 

' _Mine_ ,' when Roger pulled him up onto the bed, stripping off both of their shirts, fumbling with Freddie's trousers. 

' _All mine_ ,' as he held down Freddie's hips, his mouth on him, drawing desperate moans of pleasure from him, his name a breathless whimper on Freddie's lips. 

And when Freddie rolled him over onto his back, tasting himself on his lips, soon driving him wild in turn, nails on soft skin, all hot lips and tongue, Roger knew that he was gladly, devotedly and unequivocally _his_. 

\- - - 

Late Friday afternoon was overcast with a light drizzle, but the sun may as well have been shining bright and golden, because nothing could spoil Roger's mood. He whistled a tune as he jogged up the stairs to his front door, keys in hand and a box wrapped in brown paper tucked under his arm.  
He should have felt tired, considering he'd been on his feet all day at the market, but he was buzzing with energy. Life was good. In fact, it was _great_.

He had made an absolute killing today, for one. Almost four pounds! Which was fantastic, because it meant that he'd had enough money to make an important purchase.  
On Monday, Roger had spotted a Polaroid camera at one of the other stalls. It was an older model and second hand, of course, but it looked like it was in pretty good nick and he had immediately decided that he was going to have it. A bit of negotiating and doe-eyed pleading later, he had convinced the lady who ran the stall to hold on to the camera for him until the end of the week while he scraped together enough money to buy it. 

He knew Freddie's birthday wasn't until September. And for a little while on his way home he had entertained the thought of keeping the camera hidden away until then, but that just seemed like a waste of an entire summer of pictures. That aside, he was far too excited to give it to him, so, fuck it, Roger thought, Fred was going to get an early birthday present and he couldn't wait to see the look on his face. 

Roger smiled as he unlocked the door, thinking of Freddie, who had promised to come over late in the evening once he had done his _homework_. If Roger was lucky, he thought, biting his lip, if he was _really_ lucky maybe he'd _get_ lucky tonight and entice Freddie into a repeat of Monday morning. 

Grinning to himself, Roger opened the door, looked up and came to a halt. His grin faded as he looked back and forth between Christian and Brigitte, who were sitting on the sofa, watching him with rather serious expressions. They had stopped talking the moment he had stepped inside, which in itself felt a little strange. 

"Hey," Roger slowly closed the door behind him, an uneasy feeling in his gut. Was he in trouble? Was it about the dishes in the sink or the hot water situation? 

"What's up?" 

"You got a minute, mate?" Christian asked as Brigitte got to her feet, moving onto the armrest beside her boyfriend, making room for Roger to sit. 

"Sure," Roger said, awkwardly putting down the box with the camera on the coffee table before he sat down at the other end of the couch. 

"What'd I do?" he asked with a sheepish smile, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Well, thing is, you see..." Christian scratched the back of his head, not quite looking at him. "We've been thinking and we, uhm, we feel that maybe it's just not such a good fit anymore, this." 

Roger frowned, utterly confused. "What?" 

Brigitte put her hand on Christian's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, smiling politely in Roger's direction. 

"Zis arrangement," she said. 

"Yeah," Christian nodded and met his eyes briefly, "You living here. Sorry, mate." 

"What?" Roger repeated, feeling completely blindsided. "I don't... Are you... Are you kicking me out?" 

Christian chuckled nervously, patting his girlfriend's knee. "Well, we wouldn't call it _that_ ," he shrugged, "I mean, you've got until the end of the month. Obviously!" 

"That's a week from now," Roger muttered weakly, his frown deepening, confusion turning to disbelief. "Sorry- I just- What?! _Why_?" 

The pair of them looked at each other.

"All ze _people_ you bring over..." Brigitte started and trailed off. 

"Yeah..." Christian shook his head, his expression as apologetic as it was disapproving. "It's our home and we're not really comfortable having _strangers_ sleep over so much, I mean... I'm sure you understand." 

Roger didn't understand. At all. Was this the same Christian talking who would occasionally mouth 'nice one!' to him and high five him in the kitchen, out of Brigitte's sight, when Roger had attractive female company over for the night? None of that had ever been an issue before. It didn't make any sense. Besides, it had been weeks since he'd even had anyone over other than-

And that was when it hit him like a ton of bricks. Roger's face fell. 

They weren't talking about the girls at all.  
They were talking about _Freddie_. 

They knew.

Of course they knew. He realised that he had been sort of aware of that, really, he just hadn't cared because he didn't think it made much of a difference. Didn't think it would affect his life at all. Assumed they would just politely ignore it, because after all, they'd all happily lived their separate lives without sticking their noses in each other's business up until now. 

But it wasn't so. 

They were kicking him out. 

They were kicking him out because they didn't want to share their home with someone who-

Someone like _him_. 

Roger felt sick. 

'I'm still me!', he wanted to shout, 'I haven't changed!'  
But he said nothing. Because he also realised, there and then, that it didn't matter. What _he_ thought didn't matter at all, because he could see the way they were looking at him and it was as if they no longer saw him. No longer Roger, charmer extraordinaire, aspiring musician, useless in the kitchen and always up for a laugh. 

They only saw a bloke who was shagging another bloke. 

And they didn't want to be associated with _that_. 

The bottom seemed to have dropped out of Roger's stomach. He had never felt so ostricized in all his life.  
And so _ashamed_. 

"Oh," he said meakly, "Yeah, okay. That it? Can I go?" 

"Sure!" Christian nodded, his tone casual, almost cheerful. "Thanks for understanding, mate." 

"Yeah," Roger said curtly, picking Freddie's present up from the coffee table, before he fled to his room. 

He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, cheeks burning. His eyes stung as he slid down to the floor. 

_Fuck_. 

He didn't even know why he was crying. It was just a stupid room in a stupid flatshare, he told himself, wiping the tears away before they could fall. But the truth was that he had _loved_ this place. And he'd been extremely lucky to get it, too. A room this size, on the edge of the centre, in a flat this nice was almost unheard of. Roger wanted to be angry, he wanted to be furious because it wasn't fair, he didn't deserve to be treated like this. How could this one thing have erased a year of goodwill? 

But instead of angry, he felt mortified. Deeply and dreadfully ashamed, to the point of nausea, that this was how they saw him and Freddie. Disgusting. Appalling.  
When nothing, but absolutely _nothing_ about his relationship with Freddie struck him as... what? Filthy? Wrong?

Freddie. 

Freddie was _right_. He had been right all along to worry, always urging him to take more care, only Roger hadn't listened because it didn't seem possibly that something like this could happen... _to him._

How could he have been so stupid? 

Roger swallowed and blinked to clear his vision, cradling the box in his lap, thinking about Freddie, and Freddie coming over. 

Shit. He had to go and find him. It was just as well, because right now he didn't want to spend another minute in this house. 

Roger picked himself up off the floor and yanked the door open, finding the living room thankfully empty. He slammed the door behind himself and headed for the front door. Just as he reached for the door handle, Christian stepped out of the kitchen, holding a dish towel. 

"Roger." 

Roger stopped and stared at his hand on the silver handle. "What." 

Christian stepped closer, throwing the dish towel over his shoulder. "Hey... I really am sorry," he shook his head, "I know you're a good bloke. I mean, I don't get it, what _happened_..."

Roger glanced up at him darkly and Christian held up an apologetic hand. "It's none of my business, of course. I'm just saying, something like that- I mean, you can't just be so- so _in your face_ \- It's not proper, is it. Bit shameless, really, don't you think? There's families living next door to us and all. You never know, someone could bloody well call the police. Do you understand?"

Roger stared back at him blankly, feeling numb and not quite there, as if he was on the outside looking in. Watching his life crack like thin ice. 

Christian sighed. "Don't go ruining your future over this. I mean, what are you, like twenty?" 

"Nineteen," Roger said quietly. 

There was pity in the other man's eyes. "Listen, I'll talk to her," he nodded toward his and Brigitte's bedroom, "I reckon she could be convinced to let you stay, if we don't see your... _friend_ around here anymore."

Roger blinked slowly and shook his head. "No thanks. _Mate_."

"Really?" Christian looked surprised, taken aback almost. 

"Yeah," Roger said simply, clutching the brown box under his arm a little tighter. "Really." 

With that, he opened the front door and stepped outside into the rain.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I bloody wrote the thing, but this chapter hurt my heart in so many different ways, good and bad. 
> 
> \- - - 
> 
> Freddie Mercury trivia time!
> 
> Allegedly, Freddie's favourite ballet was, in fact, Prokofiev's R&J, he liked listening to Chopin and he had ambitions of being an opera singer before he got into rock music. 
> 
> \- - - 
> 
> On another note, does anyone here fancy being my beta? (She says, 100.000 words into the story... lol) It's just, so much of this is written late at night and I keep going back over chapters after I post them and finding so many typos, which really annoys me.  
> Also, English is my third language and while I've lived in an English environment for almost fifteen years and have sort of adopted it as "my" language I can still get it wrong _some_ times.  
> So, if any of you native speakers (ideally UK/Aus) fancy being my beta, let me know!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things, once said, cannot be unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say here, other than I really, truly hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am blown away by the sheer amount of praise and support you have heaped on me over the last week and a bit, thank you a million times! I've said it before and I will say it again, you don't know how much it means to me.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful beta reader JMLaurence, thanks to whom you may now enjoy a chapter typo-free! Hooray!

\- - -

The light drizzle had turned into a heavy downpour as Freddie left the library, soaking his hair and clothes on the way to the tube station and once again when he got off at High Street Kensington and made his way home. It had no business being this chilly, he thought, given the beautiful May weather they'd had thus far.   
Freddie held his satchel bag over his head, relying on the leather to keep the contents dry enough while he hurried down the street and up the steps to his front door.

When he entered, the flat was eerily quiet. So much so that Freddie stopped, lowering his bag from his shoulder, and listened to the silence for a good minute. It was only broken by the patter of raindrops on the window panes and the noise from the street outside. The living room and kitchenette were, for once, completely abandoned. Freddie dropped his bag onto the couch, which was more springs than cushion, and wandered over to his room, taking a peek inside. No Kevin, either. He breathed a small sigh of relief. The truth was that he didn't mind being surrounded by people, even if they were strangers - or as good as. He much preferred it to being alone. But even so, what with his cramped living conditions which lacked any sort of privacy, it was nice to have a moment to breathe and be on his own, for a little while. He was sure somebody would come home any minute now.

Perhaps everyone had gone down to the pub. It was a Friday, after all. Maybe they were waiting out the heavy rain, before making their way home.

A part of him longed to be at the pub, too. He thought of the Kensington, just a short walk away. Perhaps Roger was there, too, having a drink with the lads from the record shop. But he couldn't allow himself to get carried away thinking about a break yet, or about Roger, for that matter.

A few more hours.

A couple more hours, at least, to work on his dissertation, Freddie told himself, shrugging off his fur jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair to dry, before he perched on the armrest of the sofa and took off his shoes along with his socks. Freddie was happy enough for his feet to suffer in the name of style, but at the end of the day, he was most comfortable barefoot. The hardwood floor, old and worn as it was, felt warm and pleasant under his feet. Freddie sighed and went to put the kettle on, searching the cupboards for a clean tea mug while he waited for the water to boil. His throat felt a little scratchy, although he wasn't sure if he was simply imagining it because he dreaded getting sick now when he could least afford to or if he really had caught Kevin's flu.

Freddie was pouring boiling water over a tea strainer into a large orange polka dot mug a few minutes later, the pleasant scent of jasmine soothing his mind, when there was a knock at the door. He finished pouring and looked around, wondering if somebody had forgotten their keys.

"Coming!" he called, automatically running a hand over his hair to smooth out the frizzy mess the rain had made of it, before he picked up the cup and brought it over to the coffee table. Or what passed for a coffee table in this house. It was really just a large, over-turned wooden crate with a hideously garish tablecloth draped over it. Freddie went to open the door, fully expecting to see the barely familiar face of one of his flatmates or a complete stranger, looking for someone who wasn't home.

What he didn't expect to see was the one face he knew and loved the best.

"Rog!" Freddie blinked, eyebrows raised in surprise, a smile forming on his lips. But it faded quickly as he took in the look on Roger's face.

_'Something's wrong,'_ Freddie determined, immediately and beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"You're drenched, darling, get inside," he said, and opened the door wider, moving out of the way.

"Yeah," Roger came in from the rain with a mildly confused sideways glance at Freddie, "Sorry, I wasn't actually expecting you. I mean-" he wiped his wet face on his sleeve and slicked back strands of hair. "it's usually someone else who answers the door."

"Tell me about it, I haven't got a clue where everyone's disappeared to today, it's never this quiet..." Freddie glanced around and laughed nervously, annoyed that he was, for some reason, making small talk instead of cutting to the chase and asking him what the matter was. 

And then he closed the door and waited, absently playing with the silver pendant he was wearing around his neck. His eyes followed the fair-haired man across the room as he walked over to the couch and dropped a parcel wrapped in brown wrapping paper beside Freddie's bag. 

"What's that?" Freddie asked. 

"Nothing," Roger sighed, "It doesn't matter." 

He turned and sat down slowly, his eyes downcast. 

"What's wrong?" Freddie finally asked, stepping closer, eyes full of concern, "Are you alright?"

Roger was inspecting his feet. "I've got a crack in the sole of my shoe," he said listlessly, "right... here." He put his left ankle up on his right knee and poked the bottom of his shoe, a frown on his face. "Been walking around like this all day. Damp sock. Bloody annoying."

Freddie stared at him, his brows furrowed. 

"Roger," he said, quietly but firmly.

Roger sighed and put his head in his hands, rubbing at his forehead. Freddie crossed over to the sofa, his insides churning with worry, and sat down beside him, trying to brace himself for bad news. His hand found the younger man's knee almost of its own accord, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The touch seemed to make Roger realise that Freddie was waiting for him to speak. He made a small, miserable sound, raising his head, fingers over his lips. 

"I don't know how to tell you," he murmured into his hands.

A million possibilities, each worse than the other, flashed through Freddie's mind.

"Just _tell_ me," he pleaded, "Roger, please, you have me worried now."

Roger folded his hands under his chin, looking at the wall across from them. 

"I got kicked out of my flat today. Just now, in fact."

Freddie frowned. "What? How?"

"What do you mean, _how_?" Roger snorted, "What do you think 'kicked out' means, Fred? I have to move at the end of the month."

Freddie blinked. "That's next weekend."

" _Yes_." 

Roger sounded irritable, on edge. There was an almost shell-shocked sort of apathy about him, but anger was bubbling under the surface, Freddie realised. He sat up a little straighter, moving his hand back onto his own lap. 

"What happened?" he asked carefully. 

A horrible suspicion was quickly forming in his mind and, oh god, he didn't want to be right.

"Have a guess."

Roger's voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. It was the calm before the storm, and Freddie felt like even though he'd had no hand in causing it, this storm was going to break over him. But then again, that wasn't true, was it? He _did_ have a hand in it. 

He had everything to do with it.

"Is it because of me?" Freddie asked, feeling cold inside. The nod Roger gave him wasn't necessary. He already knew he was right the moment the words left his mouth, and something inside him tore, like an old scar ripping open. He had been waiting for this, he realised, and here it was. 

Due punishment. 

The consequences of their actions, catching up to them. 

" _Shit_."

"Yeah." 

Freddie rose from the sofa, hands on his hips, furious with himself for _knowing_ it all along but allowing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security anyway. 

"I knew it," he murmured, pacing between the window and the sofa. "I knew something like this would happen, Roger, I _told_ you-" 

"Yes, I KNOW!" Roger suddenly shouted over him, momentarily stunning him into silence. Freddie turned and looked at him, taken aback. The younger man seemed to check himself, although his voice didn't lose its sharpness. "Don't tell me 'I told you so', okay?" he snapped. "Don't you think I know that? Yes, you were right! Hooray for you." 

"Well, what do you want me to _say_?" Freddie asked hotly, with a flick of his wrist. "I was trying to warn you!"

Roger cocked his head, eyebrows raised. "Maybe you should've tried a bit harder then!" 

" _What_?" Freddie gaped at him. 

"I'm just saying!" Roger threw up his arms, slouching against the backrest. "If you were so fucking _sure_ that it was a bad idea to sleep over all the time-"

"You said it was _fine_!" Freddie shot back defensively, cutting him off. "I don't fucking know your flatmates! I believed you!"

Roger laughed mirthlessly, running a hand over his face. "Well, _clearly_ I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about, did I!" 

"Clearly!" Freddie exclaimed.

Roger's eyes met his, flashing with indignation. "Great chat," he scoffed, "So glad I came over."

Freddie pulled his lip over his teeth, arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling wounded and guilty and utterly lost all at the same time. 

"Seems like you came over just to yell at me," he retorted bitterly. 

"I'm _angry_!" Roger shouted, inadvertently proving his point.

"At _me_?!" Freddie hit an incredulous high note.

"Right now? YES!" Roger's voice broke, making him sound younger for a moment. Only a boy, reeling from the turmoil of emotion he couldn't express. Scared and in desperate need of reassurance. But in that moment, Freddie couldn't see that, because he too was still very much only a boy who felt attacked and cornered. He narrowed his eyes, drawing his arms tighter around himself. 

"Great! That's just great then! It's all my fault, is it?" 

"Well, I mean-" Roger huffed angrily and broke off, burying his face in his hands again. "I don't know-" 

" _You_ started this," Freddie cut in, pre-empting what he fully expected to be an accusation, because he had been waiting for _this_ , too, he thought. For the moment Roger would blame him for everything that had happened between them. Perhaps even hate him for it, he thought with a lump in his throat. 

The fair-haired man lifted his head, a frown on his face. "What?" 

"It wasn't me who-" Freddie pulled his lip over his teeth, his voice shaking as it dropped to a near-whisper "It was you who kissed _me_."

Roger snorted. "So what? You kissed me back." 

"Well, I shouldn't have!" Freddie dropped his arms, eyes wide with the sudden realisation that maybe it was true, maybe it _was_ all his fault. "I knew it was a mistake!"

The words rang through the empty flat, followed by silence. Freddie ran his hands through his hair and turned to the window, turned his back on Roger and the stunned look on his face. 

"A _mistake_ ," Roger echoed quietly. 

Freddie said nothing. It was true, wasn't it? It seemed clear as day to him now. If he hadn't allowed any of this to happen, Roger would still have somewhere to live and Freddie would still have a best friend who would never resent him for ruining his life. 

“How can you-” the younger man started and broke off, his voice no longer angry, for a moment, just incredulous. Freddie rolled the silver pendant between his fingers, staring out of the window. How could he, what? Acknowledge the fact that he had always, _always_ known this was going to end badly? 

“Then why-” Roger said quietly, “Why the fuck did you call me your boyfriend, the other night?”

The question took Freddie completely off guard. 

“Because you wanted me to,” he replied, before he could think better of it, because it was true. Was it not obvious? No matter how much he wanted the idea of it to be something that _made sense_ , something that was allowed to have real meaning, it wasn't, and it didn't. “It's just a word,” he added weakly, knowing he would have given so much for that not to be the case, but this was just the way things were.

“Wow,” Roger laughed mirthlessly. " _Wow._ " 

" _What_?" Freddie snapped, turning back over his shoulder, feeling confused and upset and no longer at all sure what they were fighting about. 

"It's funny, that's all!" Roger said with bitter irony, "Christian told me I could stay if I stopped having you over. And you know what? I said no. Didn't even stop to think about it." He swallowed and his expression hardened, even as he turned his face away. "Just goes to show what an idiot I am." Roger ran a hand through his hair and rose to his feet. "See ya, Fred."

With that, he made straight for the door while Freddie was still trying to process what Roger had just told him.

"Wait-" 

Roger stopped at the open door, turning back to him, a forlorn look in his large eyes but also a tiny spark of hope. Freddie felt like he wanted to tell him a million things, in that moment. 

But he was utterly tongue-tied. 

"You- you forgot this," was the only thing he managed to stammer as he picked the brown parcel up off the sofa, and Roger dropped his gaze, disappointed. 

"It's for you," he said quietly, "I don't want it back."

And then he was gone.

Freddie stared at the door for a long moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Trying to make sense of his feelings.

Then he looked down at the box in his hands.   
None of his words felt right anymore, all of a sudden. 

Had Roger really chosen to give up his room, without a second thought, all because of _him_? 'He shouldn't have. He shouldn't have had to,' Freddie thought, 'It isn't fair.'

'But he did,' a small voice inside him pointed out, ' _For you_.' 

Unable to form a single clear thought, he ripped open the brown paper, uncovering a nondescript cardboard box. Freddie sat down and opened it, frowning for a moment before he realised what he was holding. 

"Oh my-" he gasped, and lifted a hand to his lips in complete disbelief. It was the most thoughtful and precious gift he had ever received from anyone outside of his immediate family. The lump in his throat was threatening to suffocate him and when Freddie tried to take a breath, it came out a quiet, shuddering sob. A tear fell onto the black casing of the Polaroid instant camera.   
Freddie wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and looked up at the door, all but holding his breath. The sudden urge to run after Roger was overwhelmingly strong, like a spring coiling tightly inside him. 

Not a moment later, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs caught his attention and his heart leapt with hope. Putting the camera aside, Freddie jumped to his feet and rushed to the door. 

"Roger, I'm so-" he started, tearing it open, and came face to face with Kevin. 

"Uh." The physics student looked up at him, startled, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hi?" 

"Oh, bloody hell," Freddie flicked his eyes up with exasperation, "I- I thought you were... someone else." 

He craned his neck and peered out at the street, half hoping to catch sight of a dark blond head of hair, even though he knew Roger was probably almost at the bus stop by now. Surely, that was where he had to have gone, if he was heading back home?

"Is everything alright?" Kevin asked, politely pushing past him to get inside. 

"I have to go," Freddie murmured, more to himself than to his roommate, who gave him a slightly strange look. 

"Um, you're not wearing-" Kevin began to say, but Freddie didn't hear the rest because he was already out the door and halfway down the stairs.

\- - -

A chilly wind blew the rain into his face, although it wasn't as heavy and unforgiving as it had been on his way over. Roger barely felt it as he made his way down the road with quick strides, shouldering past a man with an umbrella who tutted at him. 

_A mistake._

Yes, clearly it had been a mistake on his part to think that Fred was the one person who could make everything better. Who would tell him that everything would be alright, that _they_ would be alright. Because, he realised, that was all he had really wanted to hear. 

But Freddie hadn't said any of that, not even close, and Roger hadn't meant to get angry. He hadn't even thought he was angry, until he _was_ , and now he didn't know what he thought anymore. 

_A mistake._

It wasn't so long ago that Freddie had looked at him with large, earnest eyes, telling him he would never regret anything that had happened between them. 

_Never._

'Liar', Roger thought bitterly.

So much for no regrets. Turned out Freddie had plenty.

_Just a word._

That had hurt. It had hurt like a punch in the gut. Roger felt extremely foolish, to ever have believed that it was more than that. More than a word Freddie knew he had wanted to hear.   
A sweet, silly idea.

It seemed ridiculous now. 

_Oh, lovvie._

The look on Freddie's face suddenly made perfect sense, too. 

_You poor lamb, you really think this means something, don't you?_

The bus stop was crowded, so Roger didn't bother trying to squeeze in and shelter from the rain. What did it matter? He was already drenched. Instead he lit a cigarette and stood apart, not wanting to be spoken to or looked at or even noticed. He didn't feel like going home, because now it no longer felt like home, but he was wet, cold and miserable and all he wanted was to crawl into bed. 

Into a bed that spoke of Freddie's presence in volumes, Roger realised with a pang of chagrin. From his scent to the small, stray black hairs he was now used to finding on his sheets. 'Jesus, I swear, you shed like a cat,' Roger had once told him, laughing. Freddie hadn't been able to decide whether he was offended or secretly a little pleased at the comparison, and that had only made it funnier.   
Roger wiped his face on his sleeve, took a drag from his cigarette and squinted into the distance, wondering if the bus coming down the road was his. He couldn't make out the number yet. 

" _Roger_!" 

The voice calling his name was so utterly unexpected that it made him jump. Eyes wide with surprise, he turned around and found Freddie, who had stopped a few feet away, a little out of breath.   
Roger glanced back over his shoulder at the handful of people who had also turned curiously to look and moved further away from the bus stop. They instinctively moved into the doorway of an office building and out of people's way. 

"How'd you know I was here?" Roger asked, taking a last drag from his cigarette and flicking it aside. 

"I didn't," Freddie replied with a small shrug, and shivered as the wind picked up. "I- I just figured..."

It wasn't until then that Roger really took in the sight of him and realised that not only was he still only wearing his flimsy t-shirt, but his bare feet were poking out from beneath his bell-bottom trousers.

Roger raised his eyebrows. "What the hell happened to your shoes?" 

Freddie shuffled awkwardly, lifting one foot off the ground and wiping it on his trouser leg. 

"There wasn't time..." he said quietly, and then shook his head. "Roger, I'm so sorry." 

Roger averted his eyes, biting his lip, because there stood Freddie, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed from the chill, shivering and barefoot with a pained, guilt-ridden look on his face. And even though Roger was sure that only half a minute ago he'd been terribly upset with him, furious in fact, he knew in that moment that he was ready to forgive him _anything_. 

Unconditionally, immediately. 

"What for?" he asked, hands on his hips, trying to look as though he wasn't seconds away from throwing his arms around Freddie and never letting him go. 

"Everything," Freddie sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I'm sorry about what's happened with your flatmates, it's just awful and I can't stand that it's because of me. You're right, it _is_ my fault, I know it is and all I can think is that it's only going to get worse and you will hate me. You will _hate_ me and I can't bear it, the thought of you hating me, I simply can't..."

Freddie was fighting back tears. Roger couldn't take it. 

"Come here," he whispered and closed the distance, pulling him into a firm embrace. Freddie felt cold against him, cold and small, without his shoes, and Roger held him tighter, pressing his cheek against the top of his head.

"I was mean to you, I'm sorry," Freddie gingerly rested his head against his shoulder, hugging him back. 

"I'm sorry, too." Roger closed his eyes, painfully aware that he should let go, and soon, because the last thing they needed right now was to draw unwelcome attention to themselves, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. "It's not your fault," he murmured quietly into Freddie's hair, "and I could never hate you. Freddie... how can I hate you?" He drew a shuddering breath. 

"I love you." 

And there it was. Roger felt his stomach flip, terrified of what he had just done and at the same time strangely relieved. Freddie let go of him and drew back, a pair of astonished, almond-shaped eyes looking up at him from beneath dark lashes. Roger met his gaze, his heart in his throat. 

"Do you mean it?" Freddie whispered. 

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Roger looked away and gave a weak, nervous laugh. " _Obviously_ I mean it." 

"I love you, too." Freddie said softly and solemnly, and Roger's heart filled with such a warmth that it set his very soul alight.

He looked back up and met the other man's gaze. Freddie's eyes shone. There was a smile forming on his lips, lighting up his features, and Roger returned the same smile. Until they were standing before each other, all but grinning, amazed and no longer aware of the cold, the rain and the people hurrying by. 

"I would kiss you," Freddie said quietly, "but I wouldn't like to get arrested for public indecency."

Roger chuckled. "Yeah, probably not worth it." 

"Probably not." 

"...A little bit worth it? Maybe we'll share a prison cell?" 

They were both laughing now, Freddie with his hand over his mouth, a bright twinkle in his dark eyes.

"What now?" Roger asked, when the laughter had petered out, and cleared his throat, suddenly serious. "What do we do?" 

The smile was still on Freddie's lips when he lowered his hand, but it had turned bitter-sweet.

"I don't know," he replied, and turned to gaze out onto the street. 

The rain had almost stopped now, but the cold wind was still blowing. 

"I'll help you find somewhere else to live," he offered, wrapping his arms around himself. He was shivering all over. Without thinking about it, Roger took off his denim jacket and draped it around Freddie's shoulders. Freddie looked surprised for a moment, but accepted the gesture with reticent gratitude. 

"Let's go back to yours," Roger said, briefly laying a hand on Freddie's arm as he started down the road.

Freddie nodded and then rolled his eyes, falling into step next to him. "My roommate came home." 

"Ah." Roger stuck his hands in his pockets. "That's too bad." 

"Yeah."

They shared a longing glance and a smile. Roger sighed and pulled out his cigarettes, offering the pack to Freddie, who accepted. They stopped briefly to light them and Roger chuckled, shaking his head.

"You look like a street urchin. Are your feet okay?"

Freddie snorted with laughter and bowed his head with a dramatically woeful expression, which was ruined by the fact that he couldn't stop snickering. "Oh, _please_ , sir! Could you spare a farthing?"

"Don't ask me!" Roger exclaimed. "I'll be homeless in a week!"

That did it. They descended into hysterics, laughing so hard they could barely walk in a straight line and setting each other off again every time they looked at each other. It wasn't really that funny. It wasn't funny at all. But it was better than crying.   
They were wheezing and wiping their eyes by the time they turned a corner, leaving the high street and entering the quieter, residential part of Kensington. Just as Freddie's front door came into sight down the road, he suddenly cried out and stumbled.

"Oh, fucking hell!" He grabbed on to Roger's arm as he lifted one foot off the ground, somewhere between amused disbelief at his terrible luck and agony, "I stepped on something, ow, _ow_." 

"Jesus Christ, come on then," Roger tossed his unfinished cigarette aside, looked around the near empty street, and put an arm around Freddie's back, sliding the other underneath his legs before he had a chance to protest. Freddie gave a shriek. 

"What are you _doing_?! Put me down, put me down!" he insisted, laughing nonetheless, while Roger carried him the rest of the way, setting him down on the first step. It brought them face to face, levelling out the height difference. They were standing close enough, Roger thought, that if he just leaned in, he could steal a kiss. His gaze lingered on Freddie's parted lips for a moment. Freddie was smiling, his teeth protruding slightly. 

"Will you stay?" he asked. 

“'Course I will. As long as I can," Roger replied, glancing past him at the door. 

"Good," Freddie nodded, "We'll have tea. We'll have a drink, if you like, and a chat." He raised an eyebrow. "In fact, I have a bone to pick with you, dear." 

He shrugged off the jacket and handed it back to Roger, before he limped up the stairs, fishing his keys out of his pocket. 

"Oh?" Roger could hear voices in the living room as he followed him up. Clearly, more people had returned home, robbing them of any chance of a little privacy. 

"How dare you give me something so extravagant?" Freddie shot him a reproachful look, smiling a little despite himself. "Have you lost your mind completely?" 

"You opened it!" Roger beamed. "Do you like it?" 

"I _love_ it, darling," Freddie said quietly, unlocking the door. 

"I'm glad. Just don't expect anything for your birthday," Roger grinned, and followed him inside. 

\- - -

"Bless you," Kevin said, for the third time in ten minutes, glancing up from his textbook which he was already poring over at nine in the morning on a Saturday. 

Freddie sniffed and muttered a quick 'thank you' under his breath, taking a sip from his steaming cup of tea, pencil hovering over the newspaper he had procured as soon as the newsagents had opened. 

"You moving out then?" Kevin eventually asked, a hint of what was either envy or disappointment in his voice, Freddie really wasn't sure. He supposed that while they really had avoided getting to know each other rather spectacularly, they had definitely got used to each other, in a way. Freddie looked up at him and back down at the room listings he was circling. 

"It's not for me," he sighed, "I'm just helping my-" he paused, biting back an amused grin as he scratched the tip of his nose. "My girlfriend." 

"Oh, right," Kevin nodded and went back to his books. 

An ambulance passed by outside. The wind was rattling the window pane. Freddie circled one of the listings and sneezed again, twice, followed by a weak groan. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. 

"Bless you," Kevin said, almost automatically, and Freddie was about to tell him to _please stop_ , because it was turning into a pointless exercise in politeness, when he asked: "Have you considered how much money you could save if you moved in together?" 

Freddie looked up, eyebrows raised, rubbing the tip of his nose. "Come again?" 

"I mean, seeing as you're already spending so much time together and what with rent in London being what it is," Kevin shrugged, "doesn't it make sense? My sister just moved in with her fiancé. They found a one-bed in Hammersmith, it's fairly decent for the price." 

Freddie blinked and stared into the corner of the room for a long moment, a puzzled look on his face. 

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business," his roommate murmured as he buried his head in his textbook again. "Just seems you could spare yourself all _this_ ," he added, with a fair amount of disdain, waving his hand in the general direction of their surroundings. 

"Huh," said Freddie, and lowered his eyes to his paper with a small, pensive smile. 

\- - -

"Hey- Oh, Jesus, you look a bit-" Roger started, detaching himself from the wall of the building where he had been leaning, waiting in their usual meeting place. 

"Don't," Freddie warned him with a sniff, holding up a hand with his index finger raised. "If I don't think about it, it'll pass. Mind over matter." 

"O...kay," Roger suppressed a bemused smile, taking a drag from his cigarette. "You look great. Picture of health. Let's go." 

They made their way to the market side by side. 

"No breakfast?" Roger remarked a little woefully. Admittedly, he had come to rely on whatever Freddie brought in on weekend mornings, which meant he never made it out of bed with enough time to spare for a bite to eat anymore. 

"Oh," Freddie gave him an apologetic look, "no, I'm sorry. I wasn't hungry." His eyes wandered over to the coffee bar they were passing. "Why don't we stop off here? I could do with a coffee." 

"Alright." 

Roger wasn't going to argue, his stomach was growling.   
A little while later they were sitting at a small round table, watching the people pass by and exchanging little smiles and glances the meaning of which was known only to them while Freddie sipped a cappuccino and Roger licked jam and powdered sugar off his fingers as he devoured his jam-filled doughnut. 

"You're quiet," Roger remarked. 

"I've been thinking," Freddie said, and put down his cup. 

Then he sniffed, drumming his fingertips on the table for a little while as he gazed out into the street. Roger waited, watching him cross and uncross his legs, pull out his pack of cigarettes and light one, exhaling slowly. 

"Are you going to tell me, or... ?" 

"We should move in together."

Roger coughed, and lowered his doughnut. "Um." 

"Think about it," Freddie said, chewing on a nail and watching him cautiously out of the corner of his eye. 

Roger thought about it.

"Wouldn't that... make things... a little... obvious?"

"No, it wouldn't." Freddie said simply. "Really, it wouldn't. We would just be two friends, sharing a flat. I'm sharing a room with another bloke right now, for heaven's sake." 

This was true. Everyone was sharing houses and rooms. Roger literally didn't know anyone who didn't. He thought about it again, and wondered how it hadn't occurred to him. Had the opportunity arisen, he would have happily agreed to share a flat with Freddie even before anything had ever happened between them. But now that it _had_ , that made things a little different. Didn't it? He really wasn't sure.   
On the one hand, the idea seemed to make perfect sense. No nosey or annoying flatmates. Privacy. That did sound pretty good.   
On the other hand, Roger couldn't help the feeling that his life was very suddenly and very quickly moving into a direction he had never in a million years expected, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. 

He was pretty sure moving in together was meant to be sort of a big deal, in a relationship. He'd never lived with anyone he had dated before. Which begged an important question... 

"Okay, but-" Roger leaned forward over the table, lowering his voice a little. "Are we moving in as _friends_ , or...?" 

"I- well-" Freddie looked at him, nonplussed, and then tutted impatiently, gesturing with his cigarette. "Roger, it's not that complicated. Just ask yourself: Would you rather live with me or with a bunch of strangers? Honestly, dear, that's all there is to it." 

"I mean, if you put it like that..." Roger shrugged, and took another bite of his doughnut, "You, obviously." 

"Well, then." Freddie concluded with a sniff, taking another drag from his cigarette. 

Well, then. 

"What part of town?" Roger asked after a little while, starting to consider the possibilities. If they went a bit further out, there was a chance they might be able to afford something quite liveable between the two of them. 

Freddie's eyes widened a little, as though he thought Roger couldn't possibly be serious with that question. 

"Kensington, of course!" he declared in a tone that was not to be questioned. 

"Wait, hold on," Roger laughed out loud, staring at him in disbelief, "So your plan is to find a one-bedroom-"

"Bedsit," Freddie cut in with a shrug, and finished his coffee. 

"Alright, okay, a bedsit, _still_ -" Roger shook his head, "Freddie, we're not gonna find a bedsit we can actually afford around here in _one week_. Are you crazy?" 

"Fine," Freddie gave him an indignant look, stubbing out his cigarette with an affronted sniff, "Nevermind then, just forget about it." 

He proceeded to turn to the window with a huff, crossing his arms. Roger rolled his eyes and sighed, thinking it wise not to tell Freddie that he should go home and tuck himself into bed, because the cold he was very clearly battling was making him a tad touchy. 

"I mean, we can _try_ ," he offered instead, attempting to sound hopeful, and added with a grin: "How about this? Whoever finds one gets breakfast in bed for a week."

Freddie's shoulders relaxed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"With all the trimmings," Roger added, and winked suggestively, making him laugh. 

"That's more like it," Freddie raised an eyebrow and stretched out his hand, "You have yourself a deal."

Their fingers lingered briefly after they shook on it. Roger watched their fingertips brush gently as they pulled apart, and lifted his eyes up again just as Freddie did the same. The warmth in his chest was back, although to be fair, it had never really gone anywhere. 

"I love you," Freddie mouthed, so quietly and discreetly it was barely a whisper. 

Roger softly nudged Freddie's foot under the table, holding his gaze with a fond smile. 

"Love you, too," he mouthed back. 

After a moment, they both turned away with a sigh. 

"Shall we go?" Freddie said lightly, dabbing his nose with a napkin. 

"Yep," Roger stretched and rose to his feet, waiting for Freddie to go first, and was delighted with the wide-eyed, scandalised look he received when his hand accidentally-intentionally, and quite inconspicuously, landed on Freddie's arse on their way out. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the widest grin on my face. That is all. I hope you all do, too. :D


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of future and past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some trivia:  
> \- Roger is short-sighted but absolutely hated wearing glasses, which is why he mostly stuck to prescription sunglasses and contact lenses once those became popular in the 70s  
> \- Freddie was bullied badly in his last two years of secondary school, which he completed in the UK when his family first arrived there, he refused to speak about it later in life  
> \- Freddie did, in fact, own a pair of trousers he had embroidered himself when he was a teenager  
> \- There are theories floating around that Freddie was probably originally left-handed, but it's hard to prove or disprove, because at that time and in that part of the world, he would have been "corrected" to use his right hand instead at a young age  
> \- Freddie's parents spoke Gujarati at home, but his friends say they never once heard him speak anything but English to them
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, JM Laurence!
> 
> And that's that, enjoy!

\- - -

"Roger." 

Roger looked up from the newspaper he was holding and was blinded by the camera flash, caught off-guard with a slightly dazed expression on his face.

He blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Why?" 

"Just because," Freddie lowered his camera and shrugged, crouching in front of him. 

"One day we'll look at it and remember it as the day you found us the _perfect_ place to live," he added dreamily and stood back up, giving the polaroid picture a shake. 

"Not bloody likely," Roger muttered, turning his attention back to the paper. 

"You're right," Freddie sighed, shaking the photograph some more and glancing at it from time to time. "It's not like you have _anything_ else to do all day, and what have you found us so far?" he complained. 

"Excuse me, I'm _here_ all day!" Roger retorted. "Working!" 

"Working, my arse," Freddie teased with a grin.

"Oh, right, because the basement you dragged me to see last night was such a brilliant find." 

They exchanged a look and shuddered at the memory, half-horrified and half-amused. 

"Cosy basement flat, fully furnished," Freddie said with a grin, "windows optional, mildew included."

"Pet friendly," Roger added, "No, really, _please_ bring a cat, the rats have taken over." 

Freddie burst out laughing and couldn't stop for a while, his laughter so infectious that Roger couldn't help but join in.  
It was surprising how good of a mood he had been in, for most of the week, given how bleak their chances looked. It was already Wednesday, the week seemed to be flying by, and frankly, Roger had yet to come up with a backup plan for the eventuality that they wouldn't find anything by the end of the week. He figured one of his mates would be able to put him up for a while, at a pinch. But it was near impossible to be down when the thought of moving in with Freddie filled him with excitement and joy, now that the idea was firmly planted in his mind. When the little stolen moments they'd had together - albeit there had been very few, given that Freddie had been home sick for a couple of days and also busy with college - were filled with fleeting kisses and caresses, and whispered declarations of love. There was a sense of anticipation about it all, a promise of things to come. There was something which hadn't been there before. 

The idea of a _future_. 

Roger had come to realise that this idea appealed to him. Greatly. 

Freddie looked at [the picture he had taken](https://www.instagram.com/p/BqPTzkzlhE6) with a fond smile and handed it to Roger, who took a brief look at it, shook his head, and tucked it away into the back pocket of his trousers. At last, Freddie put away the camera, which he had been toying around with since he had arrived at the stall an hour ago. Then he picked up the paper he had bought on the way from college and began to peruse it while he kept an eye out for customers. Although at this hour, with the market closing soon, they were unlikely to have any more business. Roger looked back down at his own paper.

"By the way," Freddie said, after a while. "I ran into Tim today." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"You're having drinks Friday night?" 

Roger looked up again, eyebrows raised. "Oh, that's right. Shit. I completely forgot about that. Yeah, we're having a band meeting," he shrugged. "You know."

Band meetings never usually involved more than briefly chatting about upcoming gigs or rehearsal spaces over drinks at the Kensington, before the conversation turned to something else. Although these days, it usually also included complaining about how bloody long it felt until the scheduled release of their single at the end of August. 

"Can I come?" Freddie asked quietly. 

Roger rolled his eyes. "Freddie, _of course_ you can come. You really don't have to keep asking. You're always invited." 

Freddie turned a page in his paper. 

"Well, I wouldn't have to keep asking if one of you actually bothered to invite me, for a change." 

This gave Roger pause. It was true, he realised. The dynamic which had developed was such that all of them expected Freddie to be around, but none of them made much of an effort to ensure he was, because- Well, it was _Freddie_.  
Their number one fan and critic. Their unofficial stylist and advisor. Freddie had happily invited himself to most of their rehearsals and nearly all of their gigs without hesitation, from the start, and they had come to expect just that. It had never occurred to Roger that perhaps, Freddie would have liked to be formally and properly invited, once in a while. That maybe, he wasn't sure if he was wanted.

"Sorry," Roger said earnestly, "It'd be great if you came along." 

Freddie tutted, not looking up from his paper. "You don't have to humour me." 

"But," Roger was stumped. "you _just_ said-" 

"Don't invite me because I _told_ you to invite me," said Freddie. 

"Fine, I'll make sure to invite you _in future_." 

"Oh god, Roger, please don't," Freddie groaned, "I'll know you're only doing it because I asked you to." 

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Roger stared at him for a moment and looked back down at his paper. "Fine, whatever. Are you coming or not?" 

"Of course I am, dear," Freddie said lightly, "What would you lot do without me?" 

" _Alright_ then," Roger shook his head with a bemused smile. "You're such a girl sometimes," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" 

"Nothing."

Freddie narrowed his eyes at him.

"Oh, wow," Roger said, "look at the time. Market's about to close." He glanced at his wristwatch, after the statement. "Let's lock up, shall we?" 

Freddie checked his own watch. "What are you talking about? They don't start closing up for another fifteen..." 

The insistent, sultry look Roger gave him brought him up short.

"Oh," Freddie's expression changed as he caught his drift. His eyes twinkled, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Yes, I suppose it is getting late." 

The moment Roger closed the door of the stall from the inside, he found himself pushed up against it, trapped between the silk scarves hung up over the wooden slats and Freddie's warm body, pressing into him from behind. 

Oh, _hello_.

Long fingers threaded through his hair, exposing the nape of his neck, Freddie's breath on his skin, then his hot lips and tongue. Roger's eyes fell shut, excitement tearing through him like an electric current, robbing him of his breath and making him shudder. 

"Such a _girl_ , am I?" Freddie's lips brushed his ear, his voice a low purr. Almost a growl. Roger chuckled breathily, but the sound turned into a moan instead when Freddie tugged at his hair, hard, and sucked on his earlobe. Freddie's thigh pushed between Roger's legs, a hand firmly squeezing his arse through his trousers. Freddie moved on to his neck with teeth and tongue, rocking his hips against Roger's backside in a way that was unmistakably suggestive. 

Roger felt his stomach flutter with nervous excitement, caught between a sudden, mild panic, even though he knew nothing was going to happen right here and now, and a part of him that melted into Freddie's touch, tentatively curious.

His knees felt weak when Freddie pulled away suddenly and spun him around, before leaning back into him and kissing him with a fervour that made Roger want to abandon all caution. It was evident that Freddie felt the same way when he pulled back, his eyes black in the dim light and gleaming with desire. Last Wednesday felt like half an eternity ago, right now. Roger swallowed.  
Ten minutes to closing time, he figured.  
Everyone was busy, locking up. 

His fingers were on Freddie's belt, unbuckling it even as he waited for Freddie to stop him, to tell him they _couldn't_ , not right here, for crying out loud. 

But instead Freddie braced himself against the door, holding it shut, lips pressed tightly together and breathing fast. 

Roger dropped to his knees. 

"Oh god," Freddie breathed in anticipation as Roger pulled his trousers down just enough, not wasting a moment, and closed his lips around him. Freddie exhaled sharply. The whole thing was rushed, rough and _such a bad idea_. 

Roger loved every second. 

It was ridiculous, it was downright _stupid_ and it was an incredible thrill. Freddie's muted, needy whimpers, trying to hold himself back from making a sound, knowing they were a thin wooden door away from dozens of clueless strangers- 

Roger was unspeakably turned on. One of his hands hastily fumbled with his own trousers, palming his dick through his underwear before he managed to free it. 

"God, you're, ah- _so good_ at this," Freddie choked out, a desperate, quiet murmur between gasps, rocking his hips to meet his movements. 

Roger would have smirked, pretty damn pleased with himself, if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. Well damn, who would have thought? Certainly not him, a couple of months ago.

It had been exactly one week of involuntary abstinence, and it showed. Before long, Freddie's hips were stuttering, and for a second, he lost control. His hips jerked forward and the back of Roger's head hit the door behind him.

"Fuck, sorry-" 

Roger gagged and pulled off. "Shit," he rasped, halfway between coughing and snickering, "Sorry I called you a girl, Jesus." 

Freddie made a sound between a whimper and a breathy, embarrassed chuckle, one hand flying up to his mouth. 

"Sorry, lovvie, you o-ohh, ngh _god_ ," he trailed off into a stifled moan when Roger quickly resumed where he had left off, not without a hint of aggression, as though to get his own back. 

"Ohfuck _ohfuck_ ," Freddie whimpered, even while his fingers tangled in dark blond hair, keeping Roger from pulling back too far. It didn't take long before Freddie came with a strangled groan, gripping a fistful of Roger's hair so tightly it hurt while he rode out the waves of ecstasy. Roger's fingers dug into the other man's hip, his senses overwhelmed with _Freddie_ while he stroked himself closer to his own release with his other hand. 

Freddie collapsed onto his knees, a trembling, beautiful mess. 

"Oh my _god_ , Rog," he breathed, and then their lips collided, arms wrapping around each other, drawing each other close. Roger lost himself in the embrace, moaning into Freddie's mouth when eager, long fingers pushed his own hand aside, taking over. He was already so worked up, he was close the moment Freddie increased the pace, breaking the kiss and moving on to his neck with passionate hunger. They were both good at this now, so good at pleasing each other, knowing exactly what the other wanted and needed. 

And then Freddie bent down and licked his dick from the base up, before taking it deep into his mouth, and Roger had to stifle a moan against the back of his hand. 

Holy _fuck._

He fell over the edge moments later, biting down on his knuckles to keep himself quiet, head thrown back against the door. 

Freddie's arms were around him when reality returned, his dark head of hair on his shoulder. 

"Christ," Roger was catching his breath, "That was..."

"Yeah," Freddie swallowed hard and embraced him tighter. "We're never doing that again," he whispered weakly, a hint of dismay in his voice. 

"You keep saying that," Roger chuckled. 

"I _mean_ it, I just-" Freddie pressed his face into the side of his neck, "You make me lose my fucking mind." 

Roger smiled and said nothing, eyes falling shut as he held Freddie close. 

The feeling was mutual.

\- - -

When Freddie arrived at the market in the afternoon the next day, he was surprised to see the stall already locked up. Roger was leaning against it, playing with his keys, a smug smile on his face. 

"There you are!" 

Freddie raised an eyebrow. 

"What's going on?" 

"Come on, let's go," Roger's smile widened as he threw his keys up in the air and caught them, nodding toward the stairs. "We're late." 

Some fifteen minutes later, Freddie turned in a slow circle, surveying his surroundings, a little out of breath after climbing four flights of stairs in his platform boots. However, not as much as Mrs. Lithe, the landlady, whose name was rather ironic because she was a very rotund woman who was still puffing and wheezing after the climb.  
'She'll never make it,' Roger had whispered to him on their way up, 'Place is ours.'  
'Shhh,' Freddie had elbowed him in the ribs, trying not to snicker. 

"Bathroom's right... through there," the ruddy-cheeked woman huffed, dabbing her brow with a handkerchief and gesturing toward a small, asymmetrical door which slanted at the top to accommodate the roof. Roger walked over and ducked his head to step inside. 

Freddie looked around at the faded, Edwardian wallpaper, peeling in places, and up at the skylight which was the only window in the room. 

"Light's good," he murmured. 

Roger poked his head out of the bathroom. "What's that?" 

"Always remember to shut that when you leave," Mrs. Lithe said, indicating the skylight, before Freddie could answer, "We've had pigeons in here! Nasty buggers, they make an awful mess." 

"Right," Freddie and Roger nodded in unison. 

The landlady watched them sceptically, supporting herself on the metal bed frame at one end of the room. Roger was looking around the tiny kitchenette, which sported a gas cooker next to the sink, a narrow kitchen counter and cabinet, and a small refrigerator. Also, somewhat surprisingly, a washing machine. 

"That's new, that," Mrs. Lithe pointed out proudly, as though presenting a luxurious feature of the apartment. Freddie could only assume that she was referring to its presence in the bedsit, and not the washing machine itself, because it looked anything but. "Just don't run it late in the evening, it makes an awful racket. We've had complaints."

Roger flicked the light switch and realised there wasn't a light bulb attached to the light fixture on the ceiling. 

"Students, are you?" Mrs. Lithe asked, one hand propped up on her large hip.

"Yes," Freddie replied. 

"I'm a musician," Roger said, looking at the uneven floorboard he was standing on and shifting his weight experimentally to make it creak. 

"No music before or after ten o'clock," Mrs. Lithe warned him sternly. "We've had complaints." 

"Don't worry, Mrs. Lithe," Freddie smiled pleasantly, "His band practices at the Imperial College." 

The landlady seemed satisfied with that information. However, her beady eyes lingered on Freddie. 

"Where did you say you were from, luv?" 

"London," Freddie replied, holding her gaze.

"I'm from Cornwall," Roger threw in, drawing her attention with his most charming smile before he turned to Freddie. "So, what do you say, Fred?"

Freddie looked at the rusty single bed frame, which was the only piece of furniture apart from the kitchen appliances, the roof which slanted considerably in both directions, making it near impossible to stand upright anywhere outside the forty square feet in the centre of the room, and the space between the bed frame and the kitchenette where another single bed just might fit without making the place completely unliveable.

"It's perfect," he said cheerfully.

Roger stepped off the uneven floorboard he had been balancing on and put his hands on his hips. "So, when can we move in?"

Mrs. Lithe tucked her handkerchief away. "Soon as you like, once you've paid the deposit. It's two weeks' rent," she informed them. "If you're late with the weekly payments more than once, you're out. I don't want to hear nothing about any late night gatherings or drugs, or I'll call the police. There have been complaints-" 

"You really don't have to worry about that, we're very quiet," Roger assured her solemnly, trying not to look at Freddie who was biting his tongue hard, trying not to crack up. 

A little while later, the moment they had turned a corner after leaving what was soon to be their home, Roger and Freddie burst out laughing.

"Excuse me, but where _exactly_ are you from, young man?" Roger put his hands on his hips, putting on a stern face. "Hmmm?"

Freddie put a hand on his shoulder, steadying himself because he was giggling uncontrollably. "Don't _breathe_ after ten o'clock! We've had complaints!"

"It's all good," Roger sighed, after a few moments, when the laughter had subsided, "She'll never drop in unannounced, we'll hear her wheezing her way up the stairs from a mile away."

"Oh, dearie me," Freddie giggled breathlessly, wiping the corner of his eye.

"Anyway," Roger said with a wide grin, raising an eyebrow at him, "You know what this means."

Freddie sighed, still smiling, and rolled his eyes. "You know, I don't think it's fair," he complained, "I was sick and I have a dissertation to write, unlike you." 

"Excuses," Roger snorted.

Freddie narrowed his eyes at him slightly. "I hope you're happy with burnt toast for breakfast."

"Sounds delightful," Roger poked his tongue out between his teeth, "What about the extras?"

"I am not," Freddie said firmly, but very quietly, even though there was nobody in earshot, "sucking you off every morning for a week."

"I mean, you have hands," Roger shrugged with a smirk.

Freddie snorted and slapped his arm. "Go fuck yourself, Roger!"

"I mean, I will, if you watch," Roger muttered under his breath, still smirking. 

"Oh my _god_ , get a hold of yourself, for heaven's sake," Freddie hit him harder and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, realising what he had said, while Roger howled with laughter.

\- - -

"Gentlemen, we require your assistance," Roger announced grandly, placing two pints down in front of Brian and Tim. 

"We'll pay richly in pizza and booze," Freddie said, taking a drag from his cigarette, port and lemonade in hand. 

"Okay?" Brian gave his bandmate and the dark-haired art student a curious look. 

Roger smiled sweetly, pushing Brian's drink closer to him. 

"We're moving," he informed him, "Tomorrow afternoon. We honestly don't have that much stuff, it won't take more than a couple of hours." 

"No way!" Tim raised his eyebrows, "You actually found somewhere then?" 

"I sure did," Roger beamed proudly as he sat down and picked up his own pint. 

"It's true, he found it," Freddie shrugged, cigarette between his lips, "I, too, am shocked." 

Roger grinned. "I had an incentive."

Freddie rolled his eyes with a groan. "I have to make him breakfast for a week," he fixed Roger with a playful glare, "and he won't stop going on about it. Thank you, dear, I'd almost forgotten for _one second_." 

Brian was watching all of this unfold with a confused frown. 

"Is anyone going to clue me in? Who's moving and how is this the first time I'm hearing about it?" 

"Maybe 'cause no one's been able to get a hold of you since you've been up to your eyeballs in exam prep," Roger pointed out, sipping his beer. "Bloody boffin."

Brian tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, did you want help moving tomorrow?"

Roger flashed him a bright smile. 

"We're moving in together," Freddie explained helpfully, "Roger was looking for a new place to stay and I'm tired of sharing one bathroom with half a dozen other people, so we figured, why the hell not?"

"Yeah," Roger nodded, reaching for Freddie's pack of cigarettes on the table, and ignored the surprised, curious look Brian gave him. "Better the devil you know, eh, Fred?" 

"Watch, Bri," Tim grinned, "Fred's gonna turn up on our doorsteps on the weekends because Roger's brought home _company_ and kicked him out." 

Freddie threw his head back and laughed, probably a little too loudly. Brian snorted and took a sip of his beer. 

"More like Freddie's gonna have weekend nights to himself," Roger said smoothly with a wink and lit his cigarette. 

"Right on," Tim chuckled. 

"Where are you moving to?" Brian asked. 

"Well!" Freddie exclaimed gleefully, and proceeded to brag about the excellent location - 'a stone's throw from Biba, can you believe it' - and laid out the plan for the move, managing to avoid any mention of the four steep flights of stairs involved. 

The evening was winding down when Roger found himself alone at the table with Brian. Tim was at the bar getting one last round and Freddie had excused himself to the bathroom. Roger raised his eyes up to the guitarist, a slightly wary look on his face, and Brian met his gaze, smiling discreetly. 

"So," he said, "You and Fred doing alright, then?" 

"Yeah, um," Roger cleared his throat, "Great... Just, would you mind, uh..." he glanced over his shoulder toward the bathroom and then to the bar, making sure neither of their friends were approaching, "He doesn't know I told you," he said quietly, "Can we keep it that way?" 

"You realise you haven't actually told me anything?" Brian pointed out, an amused twinkle in his eye. 

Roger fiddled with a strand of his hair, his eyes on Tim at the bar. "Yeah, well, let's keep _that_ that way also." 

"Of course, I wasn't asking." 

"I know." 

"Okay," Brian nodded, eyeing him over his pint. 

The truth was, Roger realised, as they both fell silent and waited for the others to return, that a part of him was dying to talk to _some_ one about everything that had happened. Someone who wasn't Freddie. Only he didn't think that he could bring himself to talk to Brian, even though he was sure Brian would be more than happy to lend him an ear. He always had been. But the mere thought was mortifying. 

\- - -

"So," Tim pointed to Freddie, who was sitting next to him in the back of Pete's van, "we get your bed from Feltham and drop you at your new place."

Freddie nodded. Tim pointed to Roger in the driver's seat.

"Then we get your stuff?"

"Mmm hmm," Roger had a cigarette between his lips, which he was currently trying to light before the lights changed.

"It's green." Brian pointed out helpfully from the passenger seat. 

"Yeah, I _know_ -"

A car hooted behind them.

"ALRIGHT!" Roger flicked the match out of the window, took a hurried drag and pulled off, grumbling, "Twat. Gimme a fucking minute, Jesus."

"Why don't we go straight to Shepherd's Bush from Feltham?" Tim asked. "It's on the way."

"Um," Freddie scratched the tip of his nose, his eyes trained on the back of Roger's head.

"'Cause that way Fred can start unpacking and get pizzas and beers by the time we're done," the blond drummer said casually, ashing his cigarette outside the window.

Freddie relaxed a little, leaning back in his seat and turning to look out of the window. The real reason, of course, was that he had no desire to go anywhere near Roger's house after what had happened. And neither Tim nor Brian knew why Roger was moving in the first place. 

As they drove over Chiswick Bridge, leaving central London far behind, Freddie thought of where they were headed and his chest began to feel uncomfortably tight. He hadn't been to see his family, not once, since moving to Kensington. And it was an awful thing to admit, he thought, even to himself, but he didn't miss them at all. Perhaps his mother, or Kash, a little. In certain moments. Although maybe, it was only the idea of them he missed. 

In reality, he was convinced that they could not possibly miss him much, either. How could they, when they barely knew him?  
Such a chasm had opened between the person he felt he was, and the person he felt his parents thought he ought to be, that he didn't know how it could ever be bridged. 

It had always been this way, of course.

It had been this way when Freddie was four years old, sat drawing at the kitchen table, lost in a wonderful fantasy world of colour, only to have the crayon slapped out of his left hand and a pencil shoved into his right, told to practice his letters.  
It had been this way when Freddie had taken up boxing as a young boy to see the proud look on his father's face, when all he had wanted to do was dance.  
It had been this way when he had formed a band at boarding school, instead of joining the cricket team.  
It had been this way when, attacked and tormented to tears by his fellow students every day in Sixth Form when he had first arrived in London, Freddie had sat in his room embroidering his velour trousers and listening to music, ignoring his parents' insistent appeals that he should be outside playing football with the other boys.  
And it had been this way when he had begged his father to allow him to enrol in art and graphic design at Ealing College, and eventually, his father had agreed with resigned disappointment. 

This was the way it had always been. But never had Freddie's world been so vastly different from that in which his parents lived, as it was now. Or so it felt to him. Why, if they could see him now, really _see_ and know him through and through, he thought, they would be horrified, no doubt. 

"Roger, where are your glasses?" Brian asked. 

"Don't need them," Roger mumbled. 

"Glasses?" Freddie frowned, turning his head away from the window.

"You're squinting," Brian said flatly. 

"... No, I'm not. The sun's in my eyes." 

"You have glasses?" Freddie asked, leaning into the gap between the passenger seat and the driver's seat. “Since when do you need glasses?"

"Since always," Brian snorted. 

" _No_ ," Roger huffed, "Only since- since two years ago, so."

Freddie blinked, surprised and amused in equal measure. "I've not seen you wear them. Not once!" 

"That's because he _never_ bloody wears them," Tim informed him. "Even when he can't read the signs on the motorway." 

"Come to think of it," Brian looked at Tim over his shoulder, "He's really not worn them in a long time." 

"True," Tim leaned forward as well, "What the hell happened to your glasses, Rog?" 

"Jesus fucking Christ- I lost them! I lost them on New Year's Eve, okay!?" Roger retorted, aggressively wrestling the car into a higher gear. Everyone winced at the resulting crunching sound. 

"Don't take it out on the van," Brian muttered quietly, suppressing a smile. 

"Shut up, Brian." 

"I can drive," Tim offered cheekily, clearly winding him up. 

"You can piss off," Roger flipped him the bird, and briefly glanced over his shoulder at Freddie. "Just so you know, I don't _really_ need them. I can see everything just fine unless it's tiny and _really_ far away, alright?"

"So why did you have them on New Year's Eve then?" Tim asked, his tone amused. 

Brian, Tim and Freddie all looked at Roger, while the young man pursed his lips, staring out at the road ahead. 

"To see the fireworks," he admitted, and glanced at his friends who were all still looking at him, biting their tongues, " _What?_ They were fucking far away!" 

There was a moment's silence before all three of them erupted in laughter. 

"You're all a bunch of arseholes. Fuck you, I'm crashing the van!" Roger shouted over them, although by the end, he was smiling, too. 

Freddie managed to put his reservations about going back to his parents' house out of his mind entirely for the rest of the drive, until they pulled up outside the house and his anxiety returned with a vengeance. 

He took a deep breath, gazing at the door with a mild sense of trepidation, and climbed out of the van, followed by his friends. 

It was Kash who opened. Of course it was. It was nearing six o'clock and he didn't have to look inside to know that his father was in front of the television set and his mother was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. 

"Hi," was all he could think to say, in greeting. 

"Hi Freddie." The smile on his sister's face when she saw him was warm, and he found himself returning it as he leaned in for a brief hug. Her hair carried the faint scent of coconut oil. Freddie glanced past her and caught a whiff of spice and his mother's cooking. Something in him softened. Perhaps he had missed them, after all, more than he thought. 

"This is Tim," Freddie turned to introduce his friends, "and you've met Brian, and this is Roger..." 

"We've met," Kash said. Roger gave her a smile and a friendly wave. 

'You have?' Freddie wanted to ask, but then remembered. Oh yes, that time when he had been so upset with Roger he'd decided to cut him out of his life. It seemed ridiculous, now. And it felt like years ago.

His mother came up to them as they entered, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling that small, tight-lipped smile which he recognised on himself, sometimes, in photographs.

"Freddie," she said softly, and cradled his face, kissing him on the cheek. 

"Mum, we don't have a lot of time..." Freddie muttered quietly, giving one of her hands a little squeeze as he pulled away. 

"Let your mother look at you." 

Freddie turned when he heard his father's voice from across the room. Bomi Bulsara had risen from his armchair. 

"We haven't seen you in a long time," he said, politely nodding to Freddie's friends as he made his way over. 

"Yes, papa. I know," Freddie bowed his head a little and turned to introduce Roger and Tim. Brian had been to his house before, a few months ago, as his own parents also lived close by. 

"Well, don't let us keep you," his mother waved her hand, stepping aside once everyone was acquainted with each other, "Go ahead, take our furniture." 

"It's just the bed," Freddie murmured, a little apologetically, and led his friends through to his room. 

They didn't technically _need_ the bed. Roger's mattress was his own and would fit the bed frame in their new flat. But they couldn't very well move into a bedsit with only one bed without raising a few eyebrows.  
After some deliberation, Freddie decided to take his night stand and a small shelf, too. That is, Roger and Brian took the mattress, and then the bed frame, while Tim took the night stand and the shelf, and Freddie stayed behind to fill up a large travel bag with various other things - mostly clothes - which he had been meaning to collect for some time.

Roger leaned in through the door as Freddie stood contemplating the handful of candles on the window sill. 

"Hey, we're good to go. You ready?" 

Freddie looked up, giving him a smile. "Yes, nearly." 

He quickly packed the candles and closed the bag, following Roger out of the room. His father had returned to his armchair and Kash was setting the table. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and Freddie felt a sudden pang of guilt that he wasn't staying for dinner. He stopped and hesitated, wondering when he would see them next, wondering how heartfelt of a goodbye was expected of him, just as his mother stepped out of the kitchen holding a full carrier bag. 

"A tara mate che, daki." 

"English," Freddie said insistently, casting a sideways glance at Roger. He didn't like it at the best of times when his parents spoke Gujarati to him, but found it nothing short of rude and embarrassing in front of others. Many an argument had raged over the matter in the Bulsara household over the years, which usually ended with Freddie declaring in no uncertain terms that if they hadn't wanted him to speak English, well then they bloody well shouldn't have sent him off to an English boarding school at the age of eight.

His mother sighed.

"Please, just take it, Freddie," she said, and handed him the bag. 

Freddie peered inside and saw that it was loaded with containers of food and an assortment of groceries. 

"But, mama, why? That really wasn't necessary," he groaned, the feeling of guilt returning to the fore, "Who's going to eat all this?" 

"You will!" She poked him in the ribs. "You have to, look at you!" 

"I will," Roger said cheerily, looking over Freddie's shoulder, "And I'll make sure Fred does, too. Thanks, Mrs. Bulsara." 

She turned his attention to him, taking a moment to look him over properly for the first time.

"You will be living together?" 

"Yes," Freddie and Roger said in unison. 

She shook her head sadly. "It's a pity we didn't have a chance to meet you properly. I don't know any of my son's friends." 

Freddie rolled his eyes.

"Mum, we have to go," he said impatiently. 

"You must come for dinner," his mother was saying to Roger. "Maybe then even Freddie will come and eat with his family." 

" _Mum_ -" 

"Thank you, I'd love to," said Roger. 

"What about next weekend?" 

"No-" Freddie started. 

"Sure!" Roger accepted with an enthusiastic nod.

Freddie's mother clapped her hands together, smiling contentedly. "Good, good! Next Saturday, for dinner." 

"Sounds good," Roger smiled back and gave Freddie a quick glance. 

"Next Saturday," Freddie agreed, begrudgingly, and proceeded to say his goodbyes to his family. 

"Why don't you want me over for dinner with your family?" Roger asked quietly on their walk back to the van, somewhere between amused and a tad offended. 

"You know why," Freddie sighed. 

Truth be told, even Freddie couldn't put into words exactly why. However, the idea of introducing the man he was in love with to his family - even though they had no idea and he would sooner throw himself into oncoming traffic than risk them finding out - made him feel extremely uncomfortable. 

"I mean, you've met _my_ family," Roger muttered, just as they approached the van. 

"That was different." 

" _What_? How?" 

To Freddie's relief, there was no opportunity to continue the conversation, so he simply shrugged and rounded the van in the opposite direction when Roger made for the driver’s side. Freddie threw his bag into the back of the van and returned to his seat, turning to look out of the window as they drove away from the family home he had left behind. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with this chapter, honestly. I hope you had fun reading it! Leave me a comment! As always, I'd love to hear what you think!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is a good boyfriend, sometimes, and Freddie loves to be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I added an estimate of 45 chapters total. Yes, it's likely to change (let's face it, it will end up being more, haha).
> 
> I adored writing this. I would love to hear what you all think, so don't be shy, leave a comment! :-*

\- - - 

"We have a problem." Freddie stated, two glasses of wine in, lounging against the headboard of his bed. 

"Yeah," Roger agreed, shooting him a pointed look as he popped the cap off of another bottle of lager. " _Someone_ didn't buy enough beer." 

Freddie raised his eyebrows, gesturing toward the kitchenette with his glass. "There's still an unopened bottle of wine!" 

"Wine is not beer," Roger sighed, shaking his head at his plight. 

"I'll have some wine," Brian chimed in, sitting at the foot of Freddie's bed and lazily playing around with Freddie's acoustic guitar. 

The dark-haired man gave him a smile and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Coming right up, darling!" 

He stepped over his travel bag and narrowly dodged the slanted ceiling, not yet used to the dimensions of the room. The small bedsit was nearly unrecognisable, cluttered with all their belongings, none of them in their rightful place. Not that anything _had_ a rightful place. The lack of furniture was beginning to look like a little bit more of an issue than they had previously anticipated.

"And the problem I was talking about..." Freddie picked a tumbler glass up off the counter. (Roger had sneakily appropriated a handful of glasses and silverware when he had left his former home, mostly out of spite, Freddie was sure. He himself had nicked a mug from his flatshare, as he had been the only one to use it recently anyway. They also had one pot, which had already been in the kitchen cabinet, and zero plates.)

"The problem _I_ was talking about," Freddie repeated with added emphasis as he returned, glass in hand, interrupting Tim and Roger who had moved on with the conversation, "is that we don't have a wardrobe."

He climbed back onto the bed and leaned down to reach for the open bottle of red wine. Roger passed it to him from where he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by leftover pizza, empty beer bottles and Freddie's mother's food containers. (Brian had raved about the baked saffron rice, in particular.)

"Shit," Roger's eyes widened as he looked around the room with perplexed amusement. "You're right, we don't have a bloody wardrobe!" 

"How in the hell did you not notice that?" Tim asked, leaning over Roger's head to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. 

"I don't know!" Roger chuckled, meeting Freddie's eyes. 

"It was all a bit of a rush," Freddie laughed as he handed Brian a glass of wine and topped up his own glass while he was at it, even though he could feel it going to his head. At least it was Sunday tomorrow. 

"Oh well," Roger took a swig of his beer and reached for a cold slice of pizza with a lazy groan, "We'll figure something out." 

Brian took a few sips of his wine and handed his glass back to Freddie, for lack of a surface to put it down on, before he started playing again. It sounded a little like a medley between Sound of Silence and California Dreamin'. 

Freddie gazed into the middle distance thoughtfully for a bit, a half-smile on his lips. The very thought of having to carry a wardrobe all the way up here was comically dreadful. 

"Perhaps we could get a clothes rail from Biba, surely they must have spares," he went to take a sip from Brian's glass, realised his mistake, and took a gulp from his own glass instead before adding, "I'll ask Mary on Monday." 

"Good idea," said Brian. 

"Who?" asked Roger. 

"Mary," Freddie and Brian repeated in unison. 

"You know Mary, dear, she works there," Freddie said casually, leaning over to put Brian's glass down on the nightstand. 

"Oh yeah," Roger shrugged, "I'm not good with names." 

Brian smirked. "You don't say." 

It was nearing nine o'clock and the sun was rapidly setting over London. Freddie looked up at the sky through the window in their ceiling. It was a beautiful gradient of pink, orange and blue, fading to darkness. Brian and Roger had started bickering again. Amicably, as they did. Tim was laughing at them. Lost in his thoughts, Freddie wasn't really listening but simply soaked up their presence. It was like a comforting balm, soothing his soul.

He belonged. 

In this very moment, he truly felt like he belonged here, with his friends. With Roger.  
He was accepted here. Acknowledged and loved. He was _home_ , and it was the best feeling in the world.

Dusk was falling fast. It occurred to Freddie that buying a new light bulb was something else they had forgotten about. Putting his glass aside, he climbed off the bed and opened his bag. 

The others fell silent one by one as he started lighting and placing the candles he had brought with him around the room. One on the kitchen counter, two on the nightstand, one on the small, still empty shelf which had been left next to the foot of Roger's bed. 

"Wow," said Tim, "That's actually quite lovely."

"Yeah, lovely, we'll end up setting the place on fire on our first night," Roger remarked, leaning his head back against the bed. Although when Freddie met his eyes, his gaze was affectionate and warm. The smile on his face had a hint of longing about it. Freddie wished, for a moment, that he could have walked over and sat beside him, put his head on his shoulder and taken his hand. 

Brian strummed a soft E minor and started improvising a blues solo. 

"You should keep it this way, the ladies will dig it," Tim finished off his beer and reached for one of the last few bottles. 

"Yeah," Roger chuckled. 

"Speaking of," Tim watched Freddie sit back down and pick up his drink. "You're not seeing anyone right now, are you, Fred?" 

Freddie froze, gaping at him, the wine glass halfway to his mouth. It was just that the question was so unexpected. A part of him immediately panicked that he had accidentally said or done something _suspicious_. Surely not. His free hand flew up to his neck of its own accord, fingers absently touching where he suspected a faded hickey might be, only to remember that there hadn't been much of an opportunity recently for _that_. He quickly lowered his hand into his lap. 

"No?" he said, a little uncertainly, trying to reason with himself. This wasn't about Roger and him, it couldn't be. 

"Sorry, I don't want to pry or anything," Tim apologised, "But I do have a favour to ask you." 

Freddie's eyes darted around the room nervously. Roger was intently staring at the empty beer bottles beside him on the floor. Brian appeared to be absorbed in the tune he was playing. 

"Of course, dear," Freddie took a careful sip, wondering where this was going. 

"Alright, so," Tim smiled a little shyly, picking at the label on his bottle, "There's this girl... Anne, she's in my year, you might know her?" 

Freddie shook his head. 

"Anyway, I've been meaning to ask her out, and, well, I _have_. But it was sort of while we were talking about her twin sister, and... We kind of arranged a double date? You know?" 

Roger lifted his head and turned around to look at Tim. Brian glanced up from his guitar. 

"Oh..." Freddie raised his eyebrows. 

"Yeah," Tim continued quickly, "I just, I told her I had a friend who would love to come along if her sister wanted to come, too. Please, Freddie, it's just a movie and maybe drinks after."

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again, realising there was no conceivable reason he should refuse, other than _he really didn't want to_. A double date with Tim and his prospective girlfriend, a blind date, at that, sounded awkward and nerve-wracking at best. 

"Why me?" he asked, looking around himself as though another candidate might appear out of thin air, "Why not... Roger?" 

"Yeah, why not me?" Roger agreed.

Tim made a face. "No offence, Rog, but I don't want her to end up hating me because her sister's mad at you." 

Brian guffawed. 

"Hey!" Roger said, taking offence, but then didn't seem to know quite what to follow that up with. 

"And Brian's got a girlfriend," Tim shrugged, "So does Chris, and Charlie, and I didn't want to ask Paul, because you know what he's like, so... Anyway, it's tomorrow afternoon, we're going to see this French film..." 

"Tomorrow?!" Freddie exclaimed, eyes wide. 

" _Please_ , Freddie," Tim looked at him imploringly. "Will you please come along? I'm not sure who else to ask." 

"Well, I..." Freddie pulled his lips over his teeth, trying to think of a better solution that didn't involve him. Unfortunately, he _couldn't_ , and so eventually he flicked his wrist with a sigh, admitting defeat. "Alright, I suppose I will." 

Roger snickered and took a swig of his beer.

"Thank you," Tim breathed a sigh of relief, breaking into a smile. "Her sister's name is Helen, by the way. Hey, who knows, you might hit it off."

Freddie caught Roger's eye briefly and then looked down at his wine with a coy shrug, smiling a tight-lipped smile. 

"Who knows." 

"Christ, Bri, play something fun, will you? I'm going to sleep over 'ere," Roger moaned. 

Brian looked up from the guitar again and raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. What are you in the mood for?" 

"I dunno..." Roger blinked, frowning a little. For someone who was complaining about an insufficient amount of beer, he'd certainly had enough, Freddie thought. The blond drummer waved his hand vaguely in Brian's direction. "Sum'in sexy." 

Tim snorted. 

"Okay then," Brian said, amused, and started picking a melody, then a few chords, a look of concentration on his face while he figured them out. 

When he started playing it properly, Tim, Roger and Freddie recognised the tune almost at the same time and exchanged looks. Roger immediately perked up, putting his bottle aside and drumming along on his thighs. When the chord progression reached the chorus, all four of them broke into song. 

" _Come on, baby, light my fire! Come on, baby, light my fire... try to set the night on... fire!_ " 

No one except Brian quite knew the words to the second verse, but they muddled their way through, amidst laughter, and when the chorus repeated Roger hit an ear-splitting high note at the end. Everyone whooped and raised their drinks to him. 

Moments later, their impromptu sing-along was interrupted by a loud thumping from the floor below. 

Freddie clapped a hand over his mouth and Brian stopped playing. Tim and Roger looked at each other, and then at Freddie, eyebrows raised. 

"Was that..." Freddie started. 

"... _a complaint_?" Roger finished, looking aghast, and quickly checked his watch. "How bloody dare they! NO! COMPLAINTS! BEFORE! TEN O'CLOCK!" 

He yelled, stamping his foot on the floor, loud enough for the neighbours to hear. 

"Don't! What are you doing!?" Freddie shouted and descended into a fit of giggles. The strange looks he received from Brian and Tim unfortunately only served to make him laugh harder.

\- - - 

There was a downside to the skylight, and Roger discovered it around half past seven on Sunday morning when he awoke to bright sunlight hitting him directly in the face. He frowned and rolled over with a groan, pulling the pillow over his face in an attempt to go back to sleep. 

It was no good. He was awake now. 

Roger cracked one eye open and peered over at the other bed. Even though it had seemed like a bit of a hassle, having to get a second bed when they could have easily shared one, maybe it wasn't _such_ a bad idea. Last night, after Brian and Tim left, they had both passed out, stuffed from all the food, a bit drunk and utterly shattered. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, being able to sprawl out on their respective beds. 

Freddie was lying on his front, hugging the pillow, his face buried in it and his hair a wild mess. Roger smiled. 

He kicked off his duvet, dragged himself out of bed and shuffled over to him. Then he tilted his head and stood looking at the other man for a moment. Freddie was lying directly in the middle of the bed. Roger shrugged and proceeded to lie down right on top of him, his head on Freddie's back and feet dangling over the edge. Freddie jerked awake, assessed the situation, and relaxed back into his pillow. 

"Hi," he mumbled. 

"Morning," Roger replied, nestling his head between Freddie's shoulder blades. 

A few minutes passed. Roger could hear pigeons cooing and fluttering outside the window, and Freddie's slow heartbeat, if he listened closely.  
Freddie took a deep breath and made a low purring sound. 

"You're heavy." 

"Shall I get off?" Roger asked, hoping the answer was no, because he was comfortable now. 

"Don't," Freddie murmured, "I like it." 

Roger grunted contentedly. He was starting to drift back off to sleep after all. 

The sun had disappeared behind the clouds when Roger woke up again, lying on his side with his arms around Freddie, still on top of the duvet. He shifted and climbed under the covers, craving the cozy warmth, and pulled himself flush against Freddie's back once more. Freddie hummed quietly and took his hand, pressing it to his chest. 

"The world could end now..." he said quietly, after a little while. 

"What," Roger mumbled into his hair. 

"...and I wouldn't mind." 

"That's a bit morbid." 

"It's _romantic_ , you unappreciative lump," Freddie retorted, making him chuckle. 

"You know what's romantic?" Roger teased. "The _hot date_ you're going on this afternoon." 

"Oh my god," Freddie groaned, turning his head into the pillow, "Don't remind me." 

"It might be fun." 

"I highly doubt that." 

"She might be a looker." 

Freddie was quiet for a moment. 

"Are you secretly jealous, dear?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Roger admitted freely, pressing a few soft kisses to Freddie's shoulder, "Jealous _I_ can't take you out on a date." 

Freddie hummed. "I mean... you can." 

"Not properly." 

"You could take me to the opera," Freddie suggested with a hint of excitement. 

"Ehhh..." Roger wasn't so enthusiastic about that idea, he had been imagining making out at the movies. "Maybe when I'm rich. Couple years from now." 

Freddie laughed lightly and gave his hand a squeeze. After a moment, he turned and shifted onto his back, looking up at him. Roger propped his head up on his hand.

"A couple of years is a long time," Freddie said quietly, a small smile on his face that didn't quite reach the eyes. 

Roger held his gaze. 

"So?" 

The smile on Freddie's lips widened a little. He shook his head slightly and lifted a hand to Roger's cheek, pulling him down into a kiss. 

"You know," Roger grinned as they pulled apart. "I could do with some breakfast..." 

"Oh, no," Freddie rolled his eyes, still smiling, "No, no, no. Today doesn't count."

"Why not?" 

"Well, for one, we don't have any plates or... anything, really!" Freddie pointed out. 

Roger laughed softly. "We have a pot," he reminded him, "and your mum gave us eggs." 

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning for a moment. 

"How do you boil an egg?" he asked. 

Roger burst out laughing but then fell silent, also frowning. Sure, the 'boiling water in a pot' part was obvious. But when it came to timing, he didn't have the faintest idea. 

"I... don't know," he shrugged. "I think there's still some pizza though."

Freddie yawned and stretched. "Lovely."

That morning, Roger made his way to the market alone. Freddie had decided to stay behind and start making the place habitable. Roger could tell the chaos was bothering him. Besides, he wanted to study for an upcoming exam since he wouldn't have a chance to in the afternoon. 

The first few hours at the market were surprisingly busy and went by fast, so it wasn't until close to lunchtime when Roger popped down for a cigarette. He was searching for his matches when he happened upon a polaroid picture in his pocket. It was one Tim had taken with Freddie's camera the night before. What with the mess in their new place, Roger had simply thrown on yesterday's clothes in the morning. He smiled, exhaling a plume of smoke as he looked at it.  
The photo showed himself and Freddie, side by side, in their new 'kitchen'. They were smiling and holding their drinks, ready to celebrate the occasion. Freddie had come out a little blurry, leaning into him as though he had decided to look at Roger rather than the camera the moment the picture was taken. 

Roger was so absorbed in the photo and the thought of Freddie that he didn't notice someone approaching him until he heard a familiar silvery voice right beside him. 

"Hello there, rock star." 

Startled, Roger looked up and stared into the face of the young blonde standing in front of him, a smile on her cherry lips. 

"Long time no see," said Carrie. 

"Hey... Yeah... it's been a while," Roger gave her an awkward smile in return, eyeing her warily. His first instinct was to run from this unfortunate chance encounter as soon as humanly possible, given that he was well aware that he had never called her back after their brief fling back in April. She didn't _look_ mad, but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't. Experience had taught him that much. 

"How have you been?" she asked, tilting her head. "I've been keeping an eye out for your record." 

"Oh," Roger chuckled and remembered his cigarette, taking a quick drag, "Yeah, it's not out yet. Not til the end of August." He cleared his throat, looking out onto the high street. "But, uhh... We've been busy though, I mean, I've been _really_ busy, actually. You know, college, the band and all... Went to Cornwall for a bit-" 

"What's that?" 

Carrie interrupted his attempt to casually justify why he had never got back to her and leaned in to look at the polaroid he was holding. Roger hadn't even realised that it was still in his hand. 

"Oh, it's-" 

He fought the urge to hide it away because that would have seemed quite strange, given that she'd already taken a peek and there was nothing untoward about the photo. 

"Is that your friend?" Carrie asked. "What's-his-name…" 

"Freddie. Yeah, that's him," Roger said curtly, and pocketed the photo as soon as Carrie looked back up at him. There was a little twinkle in her eye. 

"He forgave you then?" 

"Mhm, all good." Roger nodded and took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Good, that's good," Carrie smiled. "I wondered." 

Roger looked down at his feet. There was something very genuine and warm about her, and it was making him feel guilty because in all honesty, he _had_ liked her. Just not as much as he had liked Freddie. But that wasn't her fault. 

"Listen, I'm sorry I never got back to you," he muttered quietly, scratching the back of his head. "It's just..." 

"Roger."

He looked up, meeting her eyes. She seemed touched by his apology, if a little amused. 

"It's fine," she said with a small shrug. "It wasn't as if we had a heavy thing going."

"Oh... okay," Roger breathed a sigh of relief, infinitely more comfortable knowing she really wasn't upset with him. 

"Besides, when I didn't hear from you I just figured..." The smile on her face turned a little mischievous. "I figured you might've acquired a taste," she said quietly, "for vanilla." 

Roger looked away and bit his lips to suppress a smile, feeling himself blush to the very tips of his ears. 

"Um." 

Carrie's eyes widened a little. 

"Oh wow." Her smile turned into a grin. "You really did, huh?" 

"Shush," Roger muttered, even though no one but the two of them could have possibly understood what she was talking about. 

"Wow," Carrie repeated with a nod, looking impressed, "Good for you." 

Roger shrugged, smirking, one hand on his hip. She was making it sound like some kind of achievement.

"I feel like ice cream now," she laughed lightly, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. " _Actual_ ice cream!" she quickly added. 

Roger snorted, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips. 

"There's a place round the corner," he said, just trying to make conversation. He really didn't know what else to say. 

"It's a lovely day for it," Carrie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We could get some, if you're not busy?"

Roger hesitated, brought up short by the suggestion and not entirely convinced it was a good idea. "Ah... I don't..." 

"It's cool," She rolled her eyes, a cheeky grin on her face, "I'm seeing someone, too." 

"Oh," Roger nodded, then did a double take, realising what she had actually just said. "Wait- I'm not- I mean-" 

Carrie laughed heartily. "I'm afraid I don't carry a picture around, though! You'll just have to take my word for it." 

Roger huffed and shook his head with a self-conscious smile, very much aware that there was nothing he could say to deny what she had already figured out.

Carrie was giggling, amused at his discomfort. 

"I'm sorry. I think it's sweet, I shouldn't laugh," she sighed, "Right, well, I think I'm going to get ice cream and catch some rays in the park. You're very welcome to join me, if you like."

Roger remembered then why he had liked her so much. Carrie had an easy way about her. She was uncomplicated and straight-talking. Almost like a bloke, that way. And she was very perceptive. Somehow, he realised, she had got more out of him in a few words than he had been willing to share with Brian. 

He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. 

However, the day had turned out sunny and warm, after all. He'd been considering popping back home for lunch, but Freddie was probably studying anyway. 

Maybe ice cream in the park wasn't such a bad idea, after all. 

\- - - 

What a waste of a Sunday, Freddie thought that evening as he climbed the stairs back up to his new home. Sure, he had managed to organise, tidy and clean just enough before heading out to make the place look a bit more like a home and less like a messy storage unit, but that was it. He hadn't got around to studying in the end, and he had sat through the most awkward and confusing movie experiences of his life. 

All he wanted right now was a bite to eat and a good moan about his day. There was a fair chance of the latter, he figured. It was half past seven and Roger had to be home by now, if he hadn't gone to the pub. 

Freddie hoped he hadn't.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, not immediately thrown by the candle light because he was sure the light bulb situation hadn't been remedied yet.

"Hey," he said in greeting, "how are... you..." 

Freddie had looked up and spotted the large, overturned cardboard box in the centre of the room, turned into a low make-shift table. It was topped with two plates, two actual wine glasses beside the unfinished second bottle of wine from the previous night, and one of his candles in the centre. Freddie looked around and his eyes fell on Roger, who was standing by the gas cooker over a steaming pot. 

_Cooking._

"Hey," the younger man said, grinning like a Cheshire cat at Freddie's puzzled expression. 

"What's this?" Freddie asked, eyeing him with a cautiously amused, suspicious smile as he closed the door behind him. 

"Spag bol." Roger informed him. 

"What?" Freddie blinked. 

"Spaghetti," Roger clarified, and looked down at the contents of the pot which he was busy stirring with a fork. "You hungry?" 

"I... yes, I am, actually," Freddie shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on top of the rest of his clothes which he had folded neatly and arranged in a few stacks along the wall earlier. 

"Good." Roger carefully fished out one piece of spaghetti and threw it against the kitchen cabinet, where it stuck. He gasped in surprise. "Oh, cool! It works!" He gave Freddie a delighted look, pointing to the noodle as if it had just tapped out a jig. "Did you know it does that?!" 

"What in god's name are you _doing_?" Freddie was snickering behind his hand. 

"Checking if it's cooked!" Roger explained, peeling the piece of spaghetti off and throwing it back into the pot. "If it sticks it's cooked."

"Says who?" 

Roger gave the pot another stir and put the fork aside. "Someone, I don't remember." 

Freddie shook his head in disbelief. 

"I'm not sure what's going on here, but I think I walked into the wrong flat. What _is_ all this?" 

He indicated the make-shift table, and Roger himself who, now that he was having a closer look, appeared to have actually brushed his hair. He was also wearing a button-up shirt. A _nice_ button-up shirt. Of course, Freddie wasn't stupid. He had a pretty good idea what all this was, but it was simply so utterly unlike anything he had expected to come home to that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. Until Roger said it, out loud. 

"A date." The younger man shrugged, smiling his bright, winning smile. "I figured you deserved a real one. Oh shit," he had picked up the pot and was holding it over the sink, looking confused. "How do I drain this?" 

"Against the side-"

"What?" 

Freddie strode over to him and put his hand over Roger's, tilting the pot against the side of the sink to drain the steaming water while keeping most of the spaghetti from plopping into the sink along with it. 

"Right... thanks," Roger turned his head and pecked him on the cheek, before he put the pot aside and reached for a carton of Kraft Italian meat sauce. 

"Okay, go make yourself comfortable or something, I've got this." 

"Are you sure?" Freddie asked, poking his tongue out. But he decided to leave for the bathroom anyway, not without giving Roger's backside a little squeeze. 

"Sorry, I was gonna have it all ready!" Roger called. "Thought you'd be home later." 

"I fled as soon as I could!" Freddie called back. 

"Was it that awful?" Roger asked when Freddie re-emerged a few moments later, running wet fingers through his hair. 

"Well, no, to be fair, it wasn't _so_ bad," Freddie picked up one of the wine glasses. "Did you buy these, dear?"

"Yeah." 

"Thank you, they're nice... You didn't have to."

"I know. But I was buying the plates anyway, so," Roger shrugged. 

Freddie smiled, and poured himself a bit of Merlot. 

"You're a terrible influence. I never used to drink this much," he said, not really complaining. 

He wandered back over to the kitchenette, trailing his fingers along the edge of the counter, and leaned back against it, swiveling the wine around in his glass as he watched Roger stir the sauce into the pasta. Roger glanced up, acknowledging the way Freddie's gaze travelled down and back up his body.

"This doing it for you?" He cracked a lop-sided smile. "Me, cooking dinner?" 

Freddie pulled his lips over his teeth, hiding a smirk. "I could get used to it." 

"Don't." 

Freddie chuckled and lifted the glass to his lips.

_A date._

It was such an incredibly sweet gesture, it hadn't quite sunk in yet. What had he done to deserve this, anyway? 

"You look nice," he said, after a moment. But it wasn't that. Freddie didn't care one jot how Roger looked, because for one, he _always_ looked divine. Angelic, he might have said, had he wanted to wax lyrical about it. So handsome it was a bit ridiculous, to be honest, and sometimes Freddie just caught himself staring at him, completely rapt. But the fact that Roger had decided to look nice _for him_ was somehow both ridiculous and ridiculously sweet. All of this was, and he felt like he didn't quite know how to respond. 

"You look nice, too." Roger said in a low voice. 

"Well, I wasn't going to go on a date looking like shit," Freddie shrugged, running his fingers through the ends of his hair, "but thank you." 

They sat down cross-legged on the floor to eat and clinked glasses, smiling at each other. 

"Cheers," Roger said, "I hope it's edible."

"Cheers," Freddie laughed, "I'm sure it's wonderful, darling." 

"So what movie did you see?" 

"A night at Maud's?" Freddie frowned, trying to recall it. "My night with Maud? Something along those lines." 

"Any good?" 

"Oh, it was dreadful."

Roger laughed. 

" _So_ French," Freddie rolled his eyes and went on to tell him all about the film which could easily be summed up as a rather bleak philosophical discussion between the main characters on the matters of sex and the existence of god. Or 'a load of wank', as Roger dubbed it, after hearing him out. Freddie thought he might have enjoyed it more if he hadn't had to sit through it next to Helen, who was a perfectly lovely girl, to be fair, both of them politely ignoring the fact that Tim and her sister were getting rather well acquainted with each other in the dark. 

"Tim was happy then," Roger waggled his eyebrows with a grin. 

"Mmh hm," Freddie's expression was somewhere between amused and scandalised as he washed a mouthful of pasta down with a sip of wine. "Let's talk about something else though, please! I'd really rather not think about it anymore. How was the market?" 

"Oh, you know... fine," Roger didn't look up from his plate, busy twisting spaghetti around his fork. "Busy. Sold a few bits and bobs, spent it all on the way home. We also have a couple of bowls now. And a frying pan." 

"Lovely." 

"A spatula, too." 

"You're just ensuring I can make you scrambled eggs on toast, aren't you." 

"Will you?" Roger asked hopefully. 

Freddie sighed. "Well, I'll _have_ to, now. After you've made such an effort tonight." 

The younger man looked up, smiling, and then his mouth dropped open, eyes going wide for a moment. 

"Oh, fuck me, I completely forgot!" 

"What?" Freddie blinked, startled. 

Roger's smile returned, wider than before. 

"The best part," he said excitedly and got to his feet, although it was hardly worth it because he had to crouch down again under the low ceiling and get on his knees as he made his way over to his record player. He turned it on and picked up a record Freddie didn't recognise. 

"The _pièce de résistance_ ," Roger waggled his eyebrows playfully, putting on a bad French accent. 

" _Oh là là_ ," Freddie replied, playing along, and craned his neck, but he wasn't able to make out the cover before Roger took the record out and put it on. Then he turned to Freddie, biting his lower lip and watching him expectantly as they waited for the music to start. 

The dulcet, soft tones of an orchestra began to play, accompanied by a female voice singing the title words of _Lascia ch'io pianga_ from Handel's Rinaldo. Freddie's mouth hung open. He raised his eyebrows slightly, staring at Roger, who was grinning proudly as he held up the cover. It was a simple, bright red with a large picture of the Royal coat of arms on the front and white lettering at the top. 

_Royal Opera House Covent Garden_ , it read, _Historic Recordings of Actual Performances_. 

"Do you like it?" Roger asked. 

"Do... I..." Freddie lifted a hand to his mouth, genuinely speechless and suddenly so overwhelmed with emotion that he felt a lump in his throat. 

"I'm sorry I'm not taking you to the opera," Roger shrugged, turning the cover to look at it before he put it aside. "But I figured the opera can come to you." He looked up and frowned a little, mildly concerned and amused in equal parts. "You alright there, Fred?" 

Freddie was fanning himself with one hand, trying not to bloody well _cry_ over something as silly as a record. The music really wasn't helping. But it wasn't just the record, it was so much more than that. 

It was _everything_. 

The fact that ever since they had confessed their love to each other and decided to move in together, Roger hadn't said a single word, not one, about being forced out of his flatshare. Despite the fact that this place was, in all honesty, a big step down from the comfort and space he'd had in Shepherd's Bush. Freddie had felt terribly guilty about that, wanted to apologise even, but Roger had never once given him the feeling that there was anything at all to apologise for. His enthusiasm for the move had been unbridled and genuine.  
And oh god, then there was the camera, Freddie thought, and now _this_. All of it, arranged with such loving care. 

Just for him. Just because. 

The record was simply the incredibly thoughtful cherry on top of the cake. 

"Come here," Freddie managed to whisper and stretched out his hand. 

Roger crawled over to him and took his hand, scooting closer. "Well, if I'd known you'd like it _this_ much-" he chuckled, but didn't get much further, because Freddie threw his arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Roger hugged him back, shifting a little to make himself more comfortable when it became apparent that Freddie was in no rush to let go. 

"Thank you," he breathed into Roger's hair, even though those simple words didn't seem like nearly enough. He wished he could hold him closer than close. Embrace him tighter than was physically possible and be as one, for a moment or an eternity, because in that moment, Freddie didn't think he had ever felt so strongly for anyone nor believed that he ever would again. 

"It's nothing," Roger replied. 

Freddie could hear the smile in his voice and finally pulled back, just enough to look at his face. He lifted a hand to the younger man's cheek. It was a little rough. Roger hadn't shaved this morning, and Freddie ran his thumb over the stubble, enjoying the sensation. He wanted to remember what this moment felt like forever. The warmth of Roger's cheek, how dark his eyes looked in the candle light and the way his hair fell around his face. 

"It's everything," Freddie whispered, aware of the tremor in his voice. "You're everything, I-" 

Roger cut him off with a kiss, pressing his lips to Freddie's tenderly but firmly, a hand coming up to touch and angle his jaw as he deepened the kiss. Their tongues brushed and fell to caressing each other, slowly and ardently. It was a kiss that let loose an entire colony of butterflies in Freddie's stomach. He heard himself make a soft mewling sound of protest when Roger pulled away, leaning his forehead against Freddie's. 

"You know something?" Roger said quietly, eyes half-closed and a smile playing around his lips. "I don't think I would mind... if the world ended right now." 

Freddie gave a small chuckle, pressing a couple of gentle kisses to his lips, hands cradling his face. 

"You know something else?" Roger lifted his eyes up to meet his. "I love you... kind of a lot. More, I think…" he said, suddenly quiet and earnest. "More than I ever have... anyone."

"Me too," Freddie's voice was a hoarse whisper, and there was nothing he could do now about the tears clinging to his lashes, except close his eyes and kiss Roger again with all the passionate abandon of first love, as daylight faded into dusk.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SORRY. I had to end the chapter there because it was getting very long. But I do believe the next chapter will start where we left off... ;-)
> 
> Also,  
> Roger: *boils pasta without burning down the kitchen*  
> Roger: *smug look* Aww yeah  
> Roger: husband material


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger in his element. No, not the drumming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:  
> Roger Taylor did (does?) use Vaseline on his hands before shows to avoid blood blisters. Now you know.

\- - - 

Roger knew he was only nineteen. 

Well, almost twenty, really! 

But it seemed like all everyone ever did was remind him of his age, as a way of saying that he didn't know yet. 

Didn't know better. 

Lacked wisdom and experience or whatever the fuck else they thought he was too young for. 

From his parents, to his friends, to people he barely knew. 

It was infuriating sometimes. 

Because he didn't believe for one single second that he was _too young_ to know his own mind, or his own heart, for that matter. And there was no doubt in either, as he sat on the creaky floor of the tiny attic apartment with his arms around Freddie, sharing kisses that took his breath away and made him feel like he was soaring. 

He didn't know if he believed in soulmates, but he was sure that if such a thing existed, he had found his. Whatever else life had in store for him, he couldn't _imagine_ that it was possible to love more than this. To feel more consumed by and brimful of it, so much so that he thought he might burst. And he had been in love before, or so he had thought. But not like this. 

_You're everything..._

That was just it. Freddie was so much more than just someone Roger had feelings for. He was his _best friend_ , and somehow that made all the difference. 

But the best thing of all, the thing which truly blew his mind, was that Freddie felt the same way. 

And yet, it made sense. 

Everything about this _made sense_. 

It was meant to be. 

The floor wasn't particularly comfortable and Roger's leg had started to go to sleep but they held on to each other tightly for a long time, happy and a little teary-eyed, until eventually finishing their cold spaghetti seemed like a good idea. 

And it felt like a date, it really did, in the best way possible, Roger thought with a smile. The candles, Freddie laughing behind his hand, eyes twinkling whenever he looked up at him. They talked about opera - well, Freddie did, and Roger listened - and then about music in general, and everything and nothing in particular. If there was another thing Roger was certain about, it was that he would never run out of things to talk about with Freddie.  
One moment they were sharing stories and laughing about their worst dating experiences, and the next, Freddie stared down at his empty plate with a contemplative look on his face. 

"Do you believe in God?" he suddenly asked, raising his eyes back up to Roger. 

'Christ, that's a bit deep,' Roger thought, half-tempted to crack another joke, except he could see Freddie was serious. So he thought about it, for a moment. 

"I don't know," he said honestly, "Do you?" 

Freddie slowly finished the last bit of wine in his glass, leaning back on one hand. "I used to," his eyes wandered over to a candle on the kitchen counter which had burned down and was flickering, slowly going out. 

"What do you think happens after we die?" 

"I... Nothing, I guess, if God doesn't exist," Roger reasoned as he took a sip from his own wine glass, which he had barely touched. He grimaced a little. "Do you want the rest of this? I think I really don't like red." 

Freddie chuckled and held out his empty glass, watching him pour the Merlot into it. His eyes flicked to the now empty bottle. It hadn't been full to begin with, but he had in effect finished just over half of it by himself tonight. 

"I'm tipsy and you're sober, that's not fair," Freddie complained. 

Roger cracked a smile and winked. "I like you tipsy." 

"What if I just pass out and snore?" Freddie waggled his eyebrows. "Will you like me then, darling?" 

Roger laughed.

"So you think nothing happens after death, nothing at all?" Freddie persisted, taking another small sip, and Roger began to wonder if maybe that French film had left more of an impression than Freddie wanted to admit.

"No, I guess..." Roger shrugged. He really hadn't given it much thought, if he was perfectly honest. "I'd like to think there's... something, though. I don't know. Reincarnation?" 

"What if there's hell?" Freddie mused, swirling the wine around in his glass. "Looks like we're certainly going to hell, you and I," he noted in a light, cool tone that made Roger feel a little uneasy, but the next moment he threw back his head and laughed, teeth on full display. 

"I worry about what's going on in your mind sometimes, you know that?" Roger snorted, shaking his head. 

"Oh, Roggie," Freddie said breathily, once he had stopped laughing, "I don't think there's anyone I'd rather go to hell with." His eyes lit up as he took another sip of wine, and he raised his glass. "To hell and back!" 

"I'm going to the loo and back," Roger announced and got to his feet, leaving a chuckling Freddie behind. Maybe letting him drink all the wine by himself hadn't been the best decision after all. 

When he returned he was greeted with a most curious sight. Freddie had moved the make-shift table aside and pushed his bed further into the centre of the room. He was currently standing on it, on the tips of his toes, leaning as far out of their ceiling window as he could. 

"Don't do it, Fred," Roger quipped with a grin, stepping closer. "Hell can wait!"

"Come up here, darling!" Freddie shouted, his voice sounding a bit distant from outside. "It's glorious! You have to see this." 

Roger climbed up onto the bed and squeezed in beside him, poking his head and then his shoulders out through the skylight. 

"Oh," he said, eyes widening a little, "Oh, wow." 

"I know," Freddie was smiling beside him, a look of awe on his face. "It's beautiful. Isn't it beautiful?" 

"Yeah," Roger looked out over the rooftops of London and squinted into the distance. The city sprawled out below them in all directions, pulsating with light and distant sound under the night sky. Ancient and new and vast, and so full of _life_. 

A mild wind was blowing, ruffling their hair as they took in the sight in silence for a few minutes. 

It was truly breathtaking. 

Roger glanced over at Freddie. 

The dark-haired man had one elbow out the window, chin tilted up, peering down at the maze of streets. Roger reached over, felt for Freddie's other hand by his side and took it in his. Freddie's eyes flicked over to him as he gave his hand a little squeeze in return, before he turned away and looked up at the sky.

"You can even see the stars..." Freddie uttered quietly, but Roger's eyes never left the dark-haired man's face. The only view he wanted to admire right now was Freddie. He looked happy, Roger thought. Radiant, in this moment. 

Roger held his hand a little tighter. 

After a few moments, Freddie became aware of his gaze. He turned to face him, lips parted slightly in a small smile, and Roger leaned in and kissed him. The bed felt a bit wobbly beneath his feet, so Roger let go of Freddie's hand and slid his arm around him, steadying them. Freddie released his grip on the window and lay his hands on Roger's chest, sighing against his lips and leaning into him as he kissed him back eagerly and deeply.  
Roger wondered if Freddie could feel his heart, suddenly beating so much faster in his chest. Freddie's teeth captured his bottom lip, his hands winding their way up into Roger's hair, nails grazing his scalp. 

"Is this the part where you lay me on our first date?" he murmured coyly, sending a shiver down his spine.

Yep, Roger thought, a little amused and a lot turned on, Freddie was definitely the fun kind of tipsy. 

"Depends," Roger leaned down and kissed his neck. Softly, to begin with, still holding on to the window with one hand for support. "Are you going to let me?" he asked playfully. 

"I shouldn't, it's not very proper," Freddie breathed, playing the game, "I might resist..." 

Desire pooled in the pit of Roger's stomach, dark and burning hot. His arm tightened around Freddie's waist. 

"Then maybe I'll have to be more... persuasive," he said, his voice low. He let go of the window and sunk his fingers into Freddie's hair, pulling his head back with a firm tug to expose his throat. Freddie moaned when Roger sucked a patch of tender skin into his mouth. The last aria on the B side of the record had just come to its climatic conclusion and Roger was quite frankly glad, because lovely and high-brow as it was, opera in the background was making all this feel rather hilariously and unintentionally _epic_. He preferred the quiet crackle of the needle on vinyl, at this point. 

Evidently having abandoned all pretences of resistance, Freddie yielded to him easily when Roger carefully lowered himself down, pulling him along until they were both kneeling on the bed, embracing each other. However, just as Freddie was really starting to get into it, fairly vocal in his enjoyment of the caresses bestowed on his neck, Roger abruptly released him and sat back on his heels. Freddie's eyes fluttered open and he looked at him, expectant surprise on his face, his hair a tousled mess. 

"Take off your shirt," Roger said, trying to keep his voice steady, which was a challenge given how short of breath he felt. 

Freddie, too, was breathing hard through parted lips. His chest was rising and falling visibly as he lifted his hands, and then hesitated, lowering them again, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

"Or what?" he asked in a sultry voice, quirking an eyebrow, "Are you going to _rip it off_?" 

Roger's stomach lurched slightly, a tingle running down his spine. For a moment he looked back at Freddie, unblinking. 

_Really_? he thought, and pushed himself back up on his knees, which brought them chest to chest, almost touching. But not quite. 

"Take... it... _off_." he repeated slowly, head tilted to one side a little, his gaze unyielding. 

There was a hint of a smirk on Freddie's lips, curiosity and excitement glinting in his dark eyes. 

" _Make me_." 

This time Roger didn't stop to think. No sooner had the words left Freddie's mouth, than Roger's hands flew up and hooked into his shirt, tearing the front of it open and pushing it off his shoulders. 

"What the fuck!“ Freddie exclaimed, his voice hitting a breathless high note at the end and eyes wide as buttons clattered to the floor.

_Oh shit._

For a second, Roger was sure he was going to _get it_ for ruining one of his good shirts. But the next moment, Freddie _threw_ himself at him, burying his fingers in his hair, kissing him so hard their teeth almost clashed. 

_Oh._

Roger returned the kiss with equal ferocity, taking a hold of Freddie's wrists and pulling his hands down, roughly pulling the shirt off him. Freddie moaned into his mouth. They tumbled onto the bed, barely breaking the kiss. Freddie arched up into him, legs wrapping around his hips. Roger intertwined their fingers, pressing the other man's hands into the bed on either side of his head. And then his mouth was back on Freddie's neck, his shoulders, his collar bone, greedily tasting every bit of skin he could reach, grinding his hips against Freddie's crotch. 

"I missed you," Freddie moaned breathily, making him all but growl in response. Me too, Roger thought, _so much_. They'd had so little time, so little opportunity to be intimate in the last week and a half. It made him want to touch every inch and caress every nook of Freddie's body. He released one of his hands, his fingers trailing over Freddie's torso, from his neck and angular shoulders down across his chest to his stomach, and back up. Fingertips lightly brushing his nipples, teasing, taking his time before he let his mouth get anywhere near. When he finally did, Freddie whimpered with delight, a trembling hand stroking the back of Roger's head. _Fuck_. Roger wanted him so much it was unbearable. 

Truth be told, he knew exactly what he wanted to do tonight. 

Had he spent the better part of two weeks thinking about it? Wondering if it was ever going to be on the cards again?  
Sure.  
Was he a bit worried, in hindsight, that Freddie hadn't even liked it all that much the first time?  
A little, yes. 

But tonight, he was going to do better. He was determined to. 

There was a small tin of Vaseline on the bedside table which he didn't think Freddie had noticed. The stuff was a godsend, keeping his fingers from blistering during gigs, so he was never short of it. But as he had come across it while packing a couple of days ago, something in his mind had just _clicked_. He had wanted to share his brilliant idea, but hadn't been sure quite how to bring it up. 

Was he keen to put his theory to the test tonight?  
Absolutely. 

It was strangely exciting to think that Freddie had no idea how far beyond dinner Roger's planning had extended. Before Freddie had come home, Roger had made sure to take care of himself, remembering that unbearably tight heat which had driven him absolutely wild last time. Hopefully ensuring that he wasn't going to _lose his fucking mind_ this time the moment he-

Freddie was shuddering beneath him, gripping his hand tightly and arching his back to meet his caresses. Making small keening sounds that went straight to Roger's groin.

Roger came back up for a kiss, all tongue and hot breath against each other's lips. Freddie pulled his hand free, fingers flying up to undo the buttons of Roger's shirt as he sloppily kissed his way across his jaw to his neck. Roger closed his eyes with a soft moan, surrendering to Freddie's eager mouth in turn. Warm hands slipped under his shirt and Roger shrugged it off, wiggling out of it and tossing it aside. The sensation of skin on skin felt electrifying. Freddie sighed into his neck, warm breath on his skin, fingers petting his bare chest. Then his hands were pushing against him, insistently, and Roger obliged, rolling over onto his back. Freddie straddled him and bent down, his teeth grazing Roger's neck, followed by what Roger could only assume was a deliberate attempt to _leave marks_.  
Roger dragged his fingers up Freddie's thighs, grabbing a hold of his arse, frustrated at the fact that they were both still entirely _too dressed_. Freddie was rocking his hips, rubbing up against him, both of them rock hard in the constraints of their trousers. One of Roger's hands trailed up, stroking up and down Freddie's spine while Freddie made his way down to his chest with teeth and tongue. His hair tickled Roger's skin, adding to the heady mix of breathtaking sensations. The night sky was right above them, a sea of dark blue and the faint orange glow of the city. Roger lowered his eyes to his boyfriend - fuck, he didn't care what Freddie thought, he really didn't. Freddie was his boyfriend, he was _his_ , and no one could tell him otherwise. 

Freddie was lewdly mouthing at one of his nipples when Roger threaded his fingers into his dark locks, pulling him back up and crashing their lips together.  
When they came up for air, Freddie sat up and Roger lifted a hand to his cheek. Freddie turned into the touch, dragging his lips over his thumb. _Shit..._ Roger licked his lips, watching him through half-hooded eyes. Freddie was peering at him from beneath his dark lashes, practically dripping sensuality as he reached for his own belt and unfastened it. Then he slowly undid his trousers, all the while rocking back and forth, right on top of Roger's dick. And then he began to touch himself through his underwear, moaning quietly, biting his lower lip as though trying to hold back. It was such a deliberate spectacle, so incredibly _naughty_. 'Look,' the dark look in his eyes seemed to say, 'Look how hard I am for you...' 

Roger couldn't breathe. His fingers dug into Freddie's hips with a vice grip. 

He wanted to move, wanted to roll him over and rip his clothes off, suck his cock until he came screaming and fuck him until they were both sore. But at the same time, he couldn't tear his eyes away from _this_.  
His hips bucked up against him almost of their own accord, a desperate, needy whimper on his lips, and Freddie fucking _smirked_ down at him. Roger all but threw him off his lap and was on top of him in seconds, pulling down his trousers and underwear while Freddie made a noise somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. 

Freddie's hand leisurely moved up and down his own dick, his eyes on Roger as he hastily wrestled off his trousers and underwear, too. Then Roger was back on top of him, kissing him hungrily, and _oh god_ it felt so good just to embrace like this, thighs pushing between each other's legs and hands roaming each other's bodies. Roger slipped a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Freddie's dick. Freddie moaned approval against his mouth as he began stroking him. Firm and fast. Until he was making throaty keening sounds, his head thrown back against the pillow. Roger nudged his legs apart a little further, pressing a few sloppy kisses to his throat. He watched Freddie carefully as his hand slid down, fondling his balls for a few moments, before his fingers slowly ventured further.  
Freddie lifted his head and met his gaze. Roger looked back at him, searching his eyes, while he lightly stroked back and forth over his taint. Freddie inclined his head ever so slightly, eyelids drooping, and Roger leaned in and kissed him softly. Then he pulled away, pushing himself up and reaching over to the nightstand. 

Freddie's eyes fluttered open. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning a little, "What's that?" 

"Trust me," Roger murmured, hoping to sound far more confident than he felt. He scooped some Vaseline onto his fingers and set the tin aside, aware of the curious, dark eyes following his every move. 

Freddie shifted, relaxing back onto the pillow with one arm draped up above his head as Roger lay back down beside him, meeting his eyes again. The frantic passion from moments ago had subsided, leaving in its stead a sense of nervous excitement and anticipation.  
Roger leaned in and kissed him again, slowly and tenderly.  
His hand returned between Freddie's legs, slick fingers gently brushing over his tight hole. Freddie drew a shaky breath against his lips and Roger's heart was back in his throat. Everything else lost its bearing, nothing existed now in the world but _Freddie_. 

Freddie's shallow breath, making his chest rise and fall rapidly, trembling dark lashes and soft lips, wordlessly moving against Roger's mouth as his fingers drew small circles, massaging and probing. 

After a while, he could _feel_ Freddie relax beneath his touch, hips bucking slightly in a way that was nothing short of an invitation. Roger lowered his head into the nook of Freddie's neck, pressing a kiss to his collar bone, and pushed one finger inside him. There was a sense of intimacy that overwhelmed him and filled him with so much of love and desire. It wasn't really much different than touching a girl, he supposed, only it was, because touching a girl didn't feel this _forbidden_ in a way that made his heart beat so fast he wondered how it hadn't given out on him yet. He lifted his head again, kissing Freddie's jaw and the corner of his mouth as he fingered him. Freddie turned to him and into a kiss, but quickly broke away again, biting his lip with his eyes shut tightly. His arm wrapped around Roger's shoulders, seeking something to hold on to, hips moving steadily now to meet his hand. Roger eased a second finger inside. 

Freddie made a quiet mewling sound, gripping his shoulder tighter. 

"Okay?" Roger murmured against his skin, hesitating a moment. 

"Mhm, yeah... feels good," Freddie breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, making Roger shiver with need. He bucked his hips against the side of Freddie's thigh, unable to help himself, longing to be inside him so desperately it hurt. 

Freddie's eyes opened. 

"You- you can." he uttered, sounding a little self-conscious, his expression a strange mix between desire and a hint of anxious resignation, "It's okay." 

But Roger didn't want it to be _okay_. He wanted it to be _yes_ and _now_ and _fuck, please_.  
Instead of a reply, he moved down, leaving a trail of kisses across Freddie's upper body. From his chest to just below his belly button, right beside where his cock rested against his abdomen, heavy and hard and glistening with precum. Freddie bit down on his lips again and whimpered when Roger lapped at the head a few times, making his cock twitch. When he took him in his mouth, he was rewarded with a shuddering moan. Roger settled down between his legs and steadied Freddie's dick with his free hand, leaning down to suck him, slow and sweet. Meanwhile, his fingers increased their pace, penetrating much deeper from this angle, opening him up. 

Freddie whined, tossing his head to one side, an arm draped over his eyes. Now that's more like it, Roger thought, glancing up at him. He had always enjoyed this part no matter who he was with. There was something so uniquely amazing about being completely in control of someone else's pleasure, undoing them until they lost control. It was the sexiest thing in the world. 

It didn't take long before Freddie was moaning loudly, shaky hands petting Roger's hair. 

"Ah! Oh, Rog, oh my gnhh- oh _god-_ " 

Roger kept going. Until Freddie was writhing on the bed, frustrated by the painfully slow pace of his mouth on him, shamelessly pushing back on his hand, thighs quivering. When it was evident that he was close, so close he barely knew what to do with himself, Roger pulled off, abruptly depriving him of his mouth. Freddie groaned in protest and opened his eyes, hands grasping at the sheets. 

"Nghh, _please_ -" 

Roger dipped down for another slow lick and slipped a third finger inside him. 

"Ahh!"

Freddie's mouth hung open, eyes wide for a moment as he looked up at him, panting and beautifully desperate. 

"Please what?" Roger whispered, holding his gaze as his fingers moved in and out of him, stretching him further.

" _Fuck me_." Freddie moaned weakly, his voice about an octave too high. 

Roger wasn't going to be told twice. He pulled away and reached for the Vaseline again with unsteady hands, biting back a moan as he spread it over his painfully hard dick. Freddie was picking himself up off the bed gingerly and Roger realised he was trying to turn over. He put a hand on his hip, keeping him in place.

"No, don't..." he murmured, gently pushing him back down, "I wanna try like this."

The dark-haired man looked at him and wordlessly lay back down, lifting his legs up around Roger's hips when he lowered himself back down on top of him.  
Freddie braced himself with his hands on Roger's shoulders, and watched with bated breath as Roger reached down between them, positioning himself. 

Roger tried to take it slow, but just by tilting his hips forward slightly he pushed inside so much easier than he had anticipated. It was impossible not to follow through and bury himself inside the other man's body completely in one slow thrust. He heard Freddie's sharp intake of breath, felt him gripping his shoulders tightly. Roger's eyes fell shut and his mouth dropped open. Everything was slick and hot and _absolutely incredible_. Somehow, unbelievably, even more so than he remembered. He could barely breathe. 

"Oh fuck... oh my god, Freddie-" Roger choken out, forcing himself to open his eyes. "You okay?" 

"Yes, yes," Freddie breathed, "oh god, Roger, _yes_ -" 

Their lips found each other, melting into a messy kiss as Roger pulled back and slowly thrust inside again, his breathless moan muffled against Freddie's mouth. The second thrust made Freddie's breath hitch. His hand came to rest against Roger's cheek for a moment as they gazed at each other in awe, drowning in each other's eyes and the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. 

Roger dropped his head onto Freddie's shoulder and Freddie pulled his legs up higher, locking his ankles behind the small of his back. They clung on to each other tightly as though they might fall if they let go, moaning in unison with every thrust.

"Ahh, _Jesus_ -" Roger dragged his lips up along the side of Freddie's neck, and Freddie turned into him, crashing into a brief, passionate kiss, "You feel- _ah_ , so good..."

'Good' was a huge understatement but Roger barely knew words, at this point. 

"You too," Freddie breathed against his lips, "So... _deep_..."

" _Fuck_ -" 

When Roger picked up the pace Freddie threw his head back, whimpering curses and words of approval. 

Time became an unknown concept. Roger had no idea how much of it passed as he thrust into Freddie, increasingly rough, and then again slow and deep, moans and strings of words tumbling out of his mouth which barely made any sense. Until he was getting close and needed _more_. Propped up on his elbows, Roger grabbed on to Freddie's shoulders, holding him in place as he drove himself into him hard and fast, over and over. He barely had any control over the near animalistic sounds leaving his lips, but as it seemed neither did Freddie who clung to the back of his neck for dear life, eyes screwed shut and his face distorted in agonising delight. 

Unable to keep up the frantic pace for long, Roger rolled his hips and slowed down, giving them both a moment to _breathe_ before he reached down and wrapped his trembling fingers around Freddie's dick. Freddie gave a high-pitched whine, completely lost in ecstasy when he started tossing him off. 

"Ahh, fuck- _ohmygodpleasedon'tstop_ -" he cried, nails sinking into Roger's back. "Ohmygod _ohmygod_ -" 

It didn't take much before he came with a series of breathless moans, and even as he did, Roger let go of his dick and grabbed onto Freddie's shoulder with one hand and the headboard with the other, slamming himself into him mercilessly until-

_Holy shiiiiit..._

He came so hard he saw stars. Reality momentarily disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but unadulterated, mind-blowing bliss. 

His hand slipped off the headboard as he collapsed on top of Freddie, sweaty and out of breath, shivering with the aftershocks. For a few moments, he felt completely boneless, unable to move while Freddie ran his fingertips up and down his back lightly and stroked his hair, pressing his lips to his damp forehead.  
Eventually, Roger lifted himself up and pulled out, silencing the quiet breathy noise Freddie made with a kiss.  
He rolled over, dropping down onto the bed beside him with a groan, vaguely aware that he was going to have to drag himself to the bathroom in a minute to get a roll of toilet paper or something to clean them up. It felt like an impossible task. Surely his legs wouldn't support him.  
To his surprise, Freddie got up first, ran a hand through his hair and sashayed to the bathroom door. Roger smiled and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of running water. 

He was dangerously close to drifting off, but the sound of creaking floor boards brought him back around. 

When he felt Freddie's weight on the bed he cracked an eye open and sighed deeply, turning his head toward him. Perching on the side of the bed, Freddie leaned over, wet towel in hand, and ran it from his chest down to his abdomen, carefully cleaning him up.

Roger watched him in silence, blinking lazily, and followed him with his gaze when Freddie left his side again. He chucked the towel in the washing machine and wandered over to where he had dropped his jacket, fishing out his cigarettes and box of matches, before he returned to the bed. 

They climbed under the covers and Roger took a cigarette when Freddie offered, leaning in to light it on Freddie's match. 

"Well, that was quite something," Freddie murmured hoarsely, breaking the long but comfortable silence, and Roger couldn't help but chuckle. It was just such a _Freddie_ thing to say, especially given the context. 

"Quite," he agreed, and tucked his cigarette between his lips to move the ashtray from the nightstand to his stomach, on top of the duvet, making it easier to reach. The last candle, the one on the bedside table, was slowly dying. Soon the room would be completely dark, safe for the moonlight.  
When Roger turned back to the raven-haired man beside him, he saw that Freddie had followed his gaze.

"We need more candles," he said.

"We need a light bulb, more like." Roger reminded him, taking a slow drag and exhaling it toward the ceiling. 

Freddie raised his eyes up to him and Roger smiled, sliding a hand around his shoulders. 

"I'll get more candles," he said softly, feeling quite certain at the moment that he was willing to give Freddie anything he wanted and do absolutely anything for him. 

"Roggie," Freddie said affectionately, leaning against his shoulder. 

"Hmm."

"You owe me a shirt." 

Roger burst out laughing and coughed, choking on cigarette smoke for a moment. "Um. Yeah, sorry... about that." 

"It's alright, dearie," Freddie grinned. "It was like something from the movies." 

Roger frowned. "What kind of movies have you been watching?" 

"Oh, I don't know," Freddie giggled behind his hand, ashing his cigarette in the ashtray before taking a long drag. " _Dramatic_ ," he uttered huskily, cigarette smoke flowing from his lips.

Now it was Roger's turn to grin. "I thought I was gonna get a smack." 

"You were," Freddie took another drag, "Never do that again, darling." 

"I won't." 

Freddie ashed his cigarette again, a small smirk on his lips. 

"Unless I want you to." 

Roger laughed and then bit his lip, glancing over at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. 

"Maybe next time I should just... tie you up, if you decide to be a brat," he said lightly, almost casually, even though his heart had taken a sudden leap into his throat when the words left his mouth. Shit, why'd he have to go and say that? Roger stared at the record which was still turning on the record player, half wanting to laugh it off as a joke. 

'I'd love to have you completely at my mercy. Haha! _Hilarious.'_

Freddie was quiet, which was more unnerving still. 

"Record's still playing," Roger said quickly and stubbed out his cigarette, handing the ashtray to Freddie before he climbed out of bed to switch it off and put the LP away. 

When he returned to bed, Freddie snuggled into his side, nuzzling against his neck. Roger felt himself relax as they wrapped their arms around each other. His pulse slowed. 

"Thank you, for tonight," Freddie sighed, "Really." 

"My pleasure," Roger stroked Freddie's shoulder and yawned, closing his eyes. "Really." 

He still had to brush his teeth. And the window needed closing, in case it rained. 

But his eyelids were so heavy. Before he knew it, Roger was drifting off to sleep. 

\- - - 

"Did he _love_ it?" 

"Oh, he loved it," Roger smirked. 

"Congratulations," Carrie laughed and cheersed him with her bottle of coke, "I told you spaghetti was easy to make." 

"Yeah, thanks for that," He took a sip from his own bottle and leaned back on the park bench, looking up at the sky through his sunglasses even though there wasn't much point in them currently. A front of grey clouds had moved in from the east just in time for his lunch break. "Big success, all around. I've had breakfast brought to me in bed, I kid you not, _every_ day this week."

"But I thought that was the deal!" 

"Yeah, but I didn't think he'd actually _do_ it!"

Roger wasn't sure how it had happened, on Sunday afternoon. He had been sitting in the park with an ice cream cone, listening to Carrie talk about love and relationships in a way he'd never really heard anyone else talk before. Not with such conviction and ease. People weren't designed to be monogamous, Carrie said. She was in an open relationship with an anthropology professor fifteen years her senior. And his wife. She was thinking about moving in with them, she told him. Then she explained what an open relationship was and went on to talk about sharing a bed with two other people, free love and the Tantra, and Roger's mind just boggled. Compared to the things she was talking about, his secret barely even seemed interesting. 

"Freddie and I just moved in together," he had found himself saying, and then it all just came pouring out. Not the intimate details, of course, but the broad strokes. The gist of it. This monumental _thing_ which had truly changed his life and which no one else could know about. 

"How's the new job going?" Roger asked, on this cloudy Wednesday, ashing his cigarette beside the park bench. As he now knew, Carrie had been on her way back from a job interview at a nearby pub on Sunday when they had run into each other. 

She hummed thoughtfully. "I like all the different people that come in. You should see some of the regulars... such characters, you couldn't make it up. In fact, you should pop in sometime." 

"I will," Roger promised. 

"Both of you," Carrie added with a smile.

"Uh-huh," Roger nodded, although he had no intention of bringing Freddie into this. He didn't even know where he would begin explaining Carrie to him, if he decided to. So he had decided not to, and that seemed like a solid plan, for the moment. 

Several hours later at the market, Roger was called to the telephone. 

"Yeah, 'ullo?" 

"Hello, darling," Freddie's silky voice purred in response. 

"Hi," Roger smirked, raising an eyebrow at his tone, "What's up, buttercup?"

Freddie snorted with laughter on the other end of the line.

"Sorry, I've no idea where that came from," Roger snickered. 

"Aaanyway... the exam went well, I think," Freddie informed him casually. 

"That's great."

"Fancy coming home early today?" 

Roger checked his watch. It was barely five minutes past three o'clock. 

"How early?" he asked. 

"Now." Freddie said in a low voice. "Please, darling, I'm _lonely_." 

"Where are you?" 

"On the corner of our street." 

Roger laughed out loud. "Freddie, what the fuck are you calling me for? You couldn't walk 400 yards and tell me in person?" 

There was a moment of silence.

"I could, lovvie," Freddie conceded, his husky voice moving closer to the receiver, "but then I wouldn't be waiting for you in bed when you get home."

Roger grinned into the receiver. "I see." 

"Although if you hurry, I might still be in the shower... " Freddie added with a sweetly innocent lilt. "All _wet_..." 

"See you in ten minutes." Roger said, and hung up the phone even while Freddie's cheeky laughter could still be heard on the line. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, if you thought for one moment that I _wasn't_ going to write a 5000+ word chapter which is almost entirely smut... :P
> 
> Also, Roger apparently thinks he invented lube. Bless his little cotton socks. 😂


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie is a flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to say anything about this chapter because that would be spoiling it. I will say that there is a _lot_ to unpack in here.
> 
> Edit: fixed the formatting!

\- - - 

Freddie was balancing on his bed on the tips of his toes, one hand outstretched, bracing himself on the slanted side of the ceiling for support. He held his breath for a moment, stretching just a little higher, and almost managed to slot the light bulb into the fitting before he wobbled and lost his balance. 

"Fucking hell!" he grumbled and dropped back down onto the bed, staring up at the bloody thing. The fact that by virtue of being no more than an inch or so taller, Roger would probably be able to do it, was mildly infuriating. He could already hear the laughter. 

Freddie huffed as he put the light bulb aside. It wasn't as if Roger would even be home anytime soon. He was heading to Imperial College for band practice after the market closed and Freddie had really been hoping to spend a few quiet, productive hours working on his dissertation.  
It was a grim overcast day, heavy grey clouds hung in the sky, and even now at four in the afternoon there was precious little daylight falling in through the window. Squinting at pages in the dim light all evening was a very unwelcome prospect. And the only solution, it seemed, was to go and find Roger at the market only to tell him he needed help _screwing in a bloody light bulb_. 

Ridiculous. 

Freddie shook his head and climbed off the bed, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the messy room. Well, that was to say, his side was rather tidy, clothes neatly stacked, bed made and books in an orderly pile beside his bed. Roger's side, on the other hand, looked like a bomb had hit. To be fair, they had shared Freddie's bed every night with the exception of the first, which seemed to have encouraged the younger man to treat his side of the room as a sort of dumping ground for the entirety of his belongings rather than part of their actual living space. It looked like his suitcase had exploded all over his bed, although Freddie was pretty sure half of those clothes needed a wash, and amidst it all was an assortment of unrelated junk that had no business being on a bed. Was that a half-eaten brownie stuck between the pages of a magazine? _Ugh_.

How was it possible to make _such a mess_ of a space _so small_? Freddie wondered, not for the first time, and forced himself to ignore it rather than do anything about it because, for fuck's sake, he wasn't Roger's mother.

There was nothing for it but to make the best of the remaining daylight so Freddie went to fetch his satchel, which he had left by the door. As he leaned down to pick it up, his eyes fell on his white platform boots. 

Freddie paused. He looked at the bed, eyes narrowed in contemplation, then glanced up at the ceiling, and looked back at his boots. 

His face lit up. 

\- - - 

The noise of shutters rattling echoed through the market hall, amidst shouted goodbyes and invitations to the pub. Roger knew he had about five minutes until the main doors would be locked up for the night. It was a tremendously good excuse to cut his conversation short, he thought, picking at the stubble on his face anxiously with the receiver pressed against his ear.

"Good evening," his mother's voice greeted him, "four seven two nine?" 

Roger smiled. She always recited the last four digits of their phone number as a way of greeting to ensure the person on the other end immediately knew if they had misdialed, preventing any confusion. Meanwhile, his father just barked 'Taylor' into the phone, which his mum had always found to be quite rude. 

"Mum, it's me." 

"Roger! It's about time you called!" 

He could hear the excitement in her voice, coupled with relief, which was both annoying and sweet. No, he hadn't starved, or died in a ditch, or been locked up in prison since she last spoke to him a week ago, but she always sounded as though she had been expecting the worst. 

"Yeah, sorry, it's been a busy week." 

"I can imagine! Such a pity you had to move at the end of term when you're so busy with school."

"Uh-huh." Roger bit his lip, his stomach churning with a mixture of guilt and dread. He knew he wouldn't be able to put off telling his parents that he had dropped out of college for _much_ longer. Frankly, he didn't care what his father would have to say. He'd yell. A whole lot, probably. Call him a disappointment, a bum. Accuse him of being ungrateful and short-sighted. Roger expected all of that. But what he didn't want to see was the disappointment and worry in his mother's eyes. 'Please, just believe in me,' he wanted to tell her, so badly, 'Promise you'll believe in me, mum.' 

"Are you all settled now?" she was asking, "Do you have everything you need in the new flat? I can send you a little bit of money, it's no trouble, love." 

"No, mum, it's fine. I'm fine," he rested his free hand on top of the telephone, nervously drumming his fingers on the dirty metal. "How- How's everything? At home?" 

There was a brief pause, a nearly inaudible sigh, but Roger heard it, because he was listening for it. And his heart sunk, a little. 

"Everything's fine, we're all well. Oh, but we had to drive your auntie Ruthie to the hospital the other day! It was quite the scare."

"Oh no, what happened?" 

"Her blood pressure was through the roof for hours! We were all so worried. She's fine now, thank goodness. They've prescribed her something for it-" 

"Mum," Roger interrupted gently, "I don't have much time, okay? I'm calling from the market and it's closing in a minute..." 

"Where in God's name do you find the time for _that_?" his mother inquired, her tone mildly disapproving. "Don't you have enough on your plate?" 

"It's alright, it's only a few hours here and there," Roger lied, "Freddie's here most days." 

"Well, how does _he_ find the time? Isn't he graduating?" 

Oh bugger, Roger thought, he didn't remember Freddie telling her that. 

"Uhh, yeah, but- he's- really on top of his stuff. So." Seeing as almost every word out of his mouth so far had been a lie, Roger added: "I'm doing good, mum, really I am." 

At least that was the honest truth. 

"I'm glad to hear it, pet." His mother sighed. "You boys and your busy lives... Now, I know there was something else I was going to ask you. Oh, bother, I can't remember. I wish I'd written it down." 

"Tell me next time." 

"No, it was something important! And God knows when I'll speak to you next now that you don't have a landline. Oh, I don't suppose there's any chance you might be getting one-" 

"Mum, no." 

"But what if it's an emergency?" 

"Call Brian's, he'll come find me." 

"But what if _you_ have an emergency?" 

"I'll probably call Brian, too, to be honest," Roger chuckled. "Besides, how are you going to help me with an emergency from Truro, mum?" 

His mother laughed softly. "I suppose you're right. Oh-" Her voice moved away from the receiver for a moment. "It's your brother. Would you like to... Clare's here." 

"Oh yeah? Put her on."

Clare was on the phone almost before he had finished talking, impatient as ever. 

"Hi Rog!" 

"Hi, Clare bear. You alright?" 

"I'm good, how are you?" Clare sounded like her usual bubbly self. 

"Yeah, good." 

"What do you want for your birthday? Mum's putting a parcel together." 

Roger chuckled, changing the receiver over to his other ear. "I don't know! Surprise me."

"Okay! Uhm- I think mum wants to tell you something important?" 

"Clare, wait-" Roger said quickly. "Clare?" 

"Yes?"

Roger bit his lip, looking down at his feet. "How are things... back home?" 

For a moment or two, his sister didn't reply. He was aware that she had to choose her words wisely, that their mother was right beside her. But he just wanted _some_ thing. Anything. 

"When are you coming home next?" Clare asked, her voice a little quieter than before. 

_Shit._

"Soon," Roger promised, a frown on his face which Clare couldn't see. "Really soon."

"Okay," his sister replied, "Mum wants to talk to you now..." 

"Alright. Bye, Clare."

"Bye bye." 

"I remember now," his mother was back on the phone, "When _are_ you coming, have you thought about it yet? Will your band be playing at PJs again? You know your friends are always welcome, if they need to stay over." 

Because things went so well last time I brought a friend over, Roger thought darkly. 

"I know, and, no, I mean, I don't know," he said, stumbling over his words a little. "I have to speak to Mike about PJs, but yeah, thanks for reminding me." 

"But you'll be coming for a few weeks after term finishes, won't you? Two weeks, at least?" 

"I don't know," Roger said, glancing toward the stairwell. The market hall was all but abandoned now. "I'll let you know, okay? I really have to go now." 

"Well, alright, but let me know soon." 

"I will."

"Just one more thing before you go-"

" _What_ , mum?" 

She gave a good-natured sigh at his impatient tone. "I just wanted to say I'm proud of you, sweetheart. That's all. You're doing so well for yourself. All my friends say so, too, you know." 

Roger put a hand over his eyes, grimacing. "Mum... stop." 

"But it's true! Look after yourself, will you?" 

"I will, I promise. Bye, now." 

"Goodbye, Roger." 

Roger put the phone down, collected his change, and lit a cigarette as he made his way down the row of closed stalls, ready to beat the hell out of his drums. 

\- - - 

Lying on his front on the bed, Freddie shut his notebook, stretched, and wiggled his toes. 

It was still early. He still had most of the evening to himself. 

But he just could not bring himself to do any more work tonight. It was a Friday night, for crying out loud!  
Could he afford to relax? Probably not. But he could not bear to spend another minute attempting to write meaningful drivel about the correlation of graphic design and the music industry in the 20th century. 

And frankly, having successfully restored the luxury of artificial light to his new home _and_ spent a couple of hours making progress on his dissertation, he thought he deserved a break. 

Or, perhaps, _a treat_. 

Freddie sat up and crossed his legs, chewing on the end of his pencil.

Biba was still open for another half an hour. 

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than he put the pencil aside and bounced up from the bed, in search of his socks and shoes. 

When he walked past the large, illuminated display window of London's most fashionable boutique not ten minutes later, a familiar shop assistant, busy adjusting the outfit on a mannequin, caught his eye. Freddie slowed down, a half-smile on his lips, wondering whether to stop and-

What? Knock on the window? No, that seemed a bit over-the-top. She was clearly busy and perhaps he would run into her inside, he reasoned, and kept walking, watching her out of the corner of his eye. But just before he stepped out of sight, Mary suddenly looked up and straight at him, or so it felt. 

Freddie came to a halt, a funny little nervous tingle in his stomach. _Had_ she seen him? Well, if she had, it would be just plain rude to keep walking. Except he had already passed the window. Freddie hesitated a moment, and then took a step backward, leaning back slowly until she came back into view. 

Mary's head was tilted slightly, eyebrows raised as she gazed in his direction. 

Their eyes met. She smiled shyly, hands lingering by the sleeve of the mannequin's dress. 

Freddie returned the smile and gave her a little wave. Then he took another two steps back and bumped straight into a couple who were walking down the busy high street arm in arm. 

"Oh! I'm sorry-" 

He started and spun around, awkwardly shuffling out of their way while apologising. 

"Excuse me, do you mind-" 

"So sorry." 

When he looked up again, Mary was laughing behind her hand. He rolled his eyes with a dopey, self-deprecating grin, feeling his cheeks flush a little, and shrugged his shoulders. An idea crossed his mind. An idiotic, silly idea, it had to be said, and Freddie didn't know quite what possessed him to go through with it anyway. Perhaps it was just that he wanted to make her laugh again, because the way she laughed was precious.  
He took an imaginary rowing oar, tilted his chin up and gracefully _sailed_ past the window with a few long strides, ignoring the strange looks some of the passerbys gave him. Then he turned his imaginary gondola around and came back the other way. Mary was laughing openly now, looking at him fondly but also a little bit as though he was slightly mad. Freddie stopped in front of her and bowed with a flourish. Mary applauded, glancing over her shoulder as though to check if anyone else had seen him make a complete fool of himself. Then she brushed her hand over the dress on the mannequin one last time and stepped down from the display window, casting him a look over her shoulder. 

Freddie pulled his lips over his teeth, hiding a smile, and made his way to the entrance. 

\- - - 

It was approaching half past ten when Roger made his way up the narrow stairs, keys jangling in his hand. His mood was much improved after what had been a really quite decent session with Brian and Tim, albeit cut short by the fact that both of his bandmates had plans with their respective girlfriends. And so, Roger had joked lewdly about going out to possibly find himself someone to spend the night with as well, and then proceeded to head straight back home to Freddie. 

The thought of Truro and his family had slipped to the back of his mind once more, where it usually resided, ignored and untouched for as long as he could bear because it was easier that way. 

As he climbed the last few steps to the attic abode, as they had lovingly dubbed their flat, Roger was taken by surprise by the muffled sound of voices followed by Freddie's exuberant laughter. 

Huh. The last thing he had expected was for Freddie to have someone over, what with his bouts of panic about finishing his dissertation. Had he not been dead set on working on that all night? Before Roger's mind could fully process the fact that the other voice he could hear was female, he unlocked the door, stepped inside and came to a halt.

Freddie was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other, hands hovering in mid-air as he had been interrupted in his animated conversation with the pretty blonde, long hair and thin shapely legs, who sat at the foot of the bed. They had both turned to look at him. Roger blinked back at them, not entirely sure what to make of this. But, wait a minute, he _knew_ that girl. Where did he know her from? 

"Um. Hi." 

"Hello there!" Freddie smiled at him brightly, "You're back early. Is everything alright?" 

"Yeah, fine, I..." 

"Hi Roger," the blonde said quietly, and it hit him then. _Ohh_ , of course. Mary, the shop girl. Seeing her outside the usual setting had thrown him, for a minute. 

"Hi Mary," he said, and closed the door, dropping his bag by the wall. "How are you?" 

'Fancy seeing you here. This late. On Freddie's bed.'

Before Mary could respond, Freddie jumped up and excitedly bounced across the room, stretching his arms out to present the newest feature of their flat which Roger had completely missed even though he was standing right next to it. 

" _Voilà_!" Freddie exclaimed, eyes shining, and Roger turned to look at the floor length mirror propped up against the wall. It was missing its stand and had a crack at the bottom, but neither was particularly detrimental to its function. 

"Oh, wow," Roger raised his eyebrows, watching Freddie admire his own reflection with a sort of subdued coquettishness.

"Is that from Biba?" Roger asked, putting two and two together. This was all starting to make a bit more sense now. He turned to look at Mary, who nodded. 

"That's brilliant." He gave her a crooked smile, indicating Freddie with his thumb. "This pillock here's been waking me up in the morning just to ask if his clothes match."

That tore Freddie away from his own reflection and he turned, thumping him on the arm. 

"Lies! My outfits _always_ match, dear." 

Mary gave a little laugh. 

"Anyway," Roger exchanged a playful grin with Freddie, before turning back to the girl. "Thank you." 

"I think you mean-" Freddie looked at her and tapped his chin with his fingers, mouthing 'thank you' as he extended his hand in her direction and closed his fist. 

Mary inclined her head with a delighted smile and made a small beckoning motion with both hands, silently mouthing something back to him. 

Both of them promptly broke out laughing at the confused look on Roger's face. 

"Mary's been teaching me sign language," Freddie explained. 

"Okay?" said Roger, still frowning. 

"I'm an excellent student," Freddie added proudly. 

"You are," Mary agreed. 

Roger couldn't help but notice the way her eyes followed Freddie across the room, and the way she leaned in, ever so slightly, when he sat back down by her side. It wouldn't have bothered him so much, if Freddie hadn't mirrored that tiny movement, smiling sweetly at her. 

"But she refuses to teach me anything rude," Freddie complained, glancing up at him, "So I can't tell you to fuck off behind your back when you're being an insufferable git!" 

"Freddie!" Marry exclaimed, laughing. 

"Oh, I think you can, mate," Roger smirked coolly and flipped him the bird while he kicked off his shoes. 

Freddie grinned at him behind his hand. 

"Is it bad luck to _have_ a broken mirror?" Roger wondered out loud, glancing at himself in passing and ruffling his hair with one hand. "Or just bad luck if you break it?" 

"Oh, who knows," Freddie waved a dismissive hand, "We'll barely notice it, after a while. It's perfect like this. No, in fact, it's-" 

Roger watched Freddie and Mary turn to each other, sharing a knowing, meaningful look. 

" _Perfectly imperfect_ ," they said in unison, and proceeded to laugh behind their hands like a couple of school girls with a secret. 

"Right," Roger muttered, suddenly feeling quite out of place and decidedly annoyed as he stood between them and his own bed, with no space to sit down. 

He crossed his arms and glanced around the room and then up at the ceiling. 

"Oh, hey, the light works," he finally noticed, happy to change the topic to something that wasn't, apparently, an inside joke. "Good work, Bulsara." 

But for some _goddamn_ reason, this only drew more inexplicable laughter from the pair sitting on the bed. 

"Oh, darling, you have _no_ idea!" Freddie exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Mary, who clearly _did_ have an idea. 

Roger bit his lip, overcome by the sudden irrational urge to mockingly yell 'HA HA HA' in their faces. 

"Who says modern fashion isn't practical?" Mary chuckled. 

Freddie all but wheezed with laughter and waved a hand in Roger's direction. 

"I'll tell you later, darling," he sighed, almost as an afterthought. 

"Whatever," Roger muttered under his breath, and very deliberately crossed the room to the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of water even though he wasn't particularly thirsty. 

"Oh no, I didn't realise how late it was! My father will be worried," Mary was saying, "I should really be going." 

'Yeah, you should,' Roger thought, deciding there and then that he didn't care for Mary. 

"Of course... Shall I walk you to the station?" Freddie offered. Roger loudly set down his glass, glancing back over his shoulder. They were both on their feet now, slowly making their way to the door, eyes glued to each other. Meanwhile, Roger's eyes were on Freddie's hand, hovering around her waist, not quite touching her. But _wanting_ to, he thought. 

"Oh, no, that's really not necessary," Mary told him, slipping into her shoes. "But thank you. And thank you so much for the tea." 

"You're very welcome, dear."

"Goodbye, Roger!" 

"Bye," Roger muttered, watching them out of the corner of his eye. Freddie opened the door for her, and she stepped outside and out of view. 

"I'll let you know about the clothes rail." 

Roger heard her say. 

"Oh, yes! Please do, I can't thank you enough," Freddie followed her outside, "Safe journey home." 

"Goodnight, Freddie." 

"Goodnight." 

There was a moment of silence followed by quiet laughter. Roger rolled his eyes. They were probably fucking _signing_ 'goodnight' to each other or _some shit_. 

"Bye," Freddie finally said, his voice soft and affectionate. 

Roger turned around and leaned against the sink, arms crossed and his jaw tense. In less than ten minutes, his mood had plummeted to a new low. 

"Didn't know you were such good friends with her," he said as soon as Freddie came back inside and closed the door behind himself. 

The dark-haired man looked up at him, all wide, innocent eyes and a small smile on his lips. 

"I wouldn't say we're _friends_..." he mused, walking over to his bed. "I mean, we talk." 

He flung himself onto the bed and stretched out, arms behind his head, looking up at the skylight. Roger watched him with a scowl. 

"Really. Cause you seemed pretty fucking friendly to me just now." 

Freddie looked over at him, surprised at his tone, and rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. 

"Are you cross with me?" he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. 

Roger shrugged. "Maybe." 

"Because I was talking to a girl...?" Freddie asked slowly, suppressing a bemused smile. 

"Yeah, right. _Talking_ ," Roger scoffed, uncrossing his arms and grabbing on to the edge of the counter. 

Freddie looked at him as if he had vetitably lost his mind. 

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't fucking pretend you weren't flirting with her," Roger shot back. 

Freddie sat up, eyes incredulous and wide. "I was _not_!"

"Fuck off, Freddie."

"Really, I wasn't!" Freddie insisted with such genuine consternation that Roger almost believed him. _Almost._

"Honestly, dear, you're being ridiculous," Freddie suddenly changed course, fixing him with a stern look in return. "She was telling me about her dead mother and showing me some sign language, that's all." 

"Which is pretty fucking weird, if you ask me." Roger snorted. 

Freddie looked borderline disgusted with him for a moment. "Her mother was deaf and so is her dad." 

"Yeah, okay, well-" Roger huffed. "I didn't know that. _Obviously_. Still weird," he grumbled stubbornly under his breath. 

"Roger, what is your _problem_?" Freddie crossed his arms over his chest and swung one leg over the other. "Mary talked her manager into giving us that mirror and helped me carry it all the way up here! What was I going to _do_? Send her on her merry way? I offered her a cup of tea and we had a lovely chat! What _the fuck_ are you so bloody upset about?" 

"Oh, so let me get this straight, right?" Roger gave a mirthless laugh. "You're not friends or anything but you were chatting away for _three hours_?" 

"Two and a half," Freddie snapped, "And _yes_ , we were! So fucking _what_!?" 

"Well, I'm sorry I interrupted your _riveting_ conversation!" Roger hissed angrily, pushing himself off from the counter and storming off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself with a loud bang. 

His heart was pounding. He slammed the toilet lid down, gave the bottom of the shower a good kick, and sat himself down, rubbing his palms over his knees in frustration. A part of him was aware that he was overreacting, that he was irrationally angry over what amounted to nothing. It _was_ ridiculous, because he wasn't even the jealous type. He really fucking wasn't. And yet... 

A moment later, he heard the front door slam. 

Roger laughed in disbelief. "Oh, that's great, that's just GREAT!" he shouted at the bathroom door and jumped up, yanking it open. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw the front door open as well. 

"Where the fuck do you think you're _going_!?" he yelled down the stairs. Freddie was already out of sight. His rapid footfall came to a halt.

"Away from _you_!" he yelled back, "Until you're done being such an _arse_!" 

And with that, he continued down the stairs. 

"WELL, _FUCK OFF_ THEN!" Roger shouted after him. "TOSSER!" 

When there was no reply he slammed the door shut again, flouncing over to his bed and carelessly dumping everything on it onto the floor. Then he threw himself down, grabbed his pillow and tossed it across the room as hard as he could. It hit the fridge with a dull thud. 

Roger stared at it for a moment, and lowered his head into his hands. 

\- - - 

The night air was cool, but not unpleasantly so. It felt soothing on Freddie's flushed face as he left the building and made his way down the street, arms crossed firmly and his jaw set. 

In actual fact, there was really nowhere for him to go unless he went all the way to Soho. Pubs were closing shortly, and the streets were growing quiet and empty as everyone moved their Friday night activities to the heart of London, which never slept, or their own homes. 

He slowed down a little when he reached the end of the road and turned into the high street, anger giving way to doubt. The situation had escalated so fast he had barely managed to wrap his mind around it. All he knew was that he had done _nothing wrong_ and, for some reason, Roger was being _an unreasonable prat_ , accusing him of getting too friendly with Mary. Of all the things. _Of all the things_! 

And Roger, of all people, who was barely capable of speaking to a woman without turning on the charm. Oh, fucking _please_. Freddie was certain, beyond a shadow of doubt, that Roger was busy flirting with every female customer who entered their stall every day of the week. How _dare_ he? Even if Freddie _had_ been flirting with Mary, even _if_ -

Freddie reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, stopping to light one in front of a closed barber shop. He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out through his nose, staring at a candy cane striped barber pole. 

_Had_ he been flirting with her? Well-  
Maybe _a little_. Hardly at all. And certainly not intentionally.

Freddie tutted and shook his head, continuing down the street toward the park. It was closed at this hour, but there were a few benches just outside and at the moment, that was his best bet. 

He was _not_ going back home for a while, and most certainly not to apologise. Let Roger seethe and throw his silly tantrum over _nothing_. Knowing him, it wouldn't take terribly long before he had calmed down, but Freddie had every intention of making him wait. 

However, after half an hour, perched atop the backrest of a bench, watching the cars go by and depleting his supply of cigarettes decidedly too quickly, it started to drizzle and Freddie started to shiver. 

\- - - 

Roger was lying on the floor, his head right beside the record player, the ashtray next to him and a cricket ball in his hand which he had unearthed among his things. God knew where it came from. He didn't even like cricket.  
The B side of The Doors' album, Waiting for the Sun, was coming to it's melancholic conclusion, turned down low. The last thing he needed was the neighbours complaining. Big Ben had chimed in the distance a while ago. 

It was well past midnight. 

The sound of raindrops splattering down on the window may well have sent him off to sleep, under different circumstances. However, Roger was far too miserable and worried, at this point, to even consider sleep. 

The anger had seeped out of him long ago, leaving behind guilt, regret and uncertainty. Rather unhelpfully, there was a myriad of annoying what-ifs buzzing around at the back of his mind like a swarm of pesky mosquitos. What if Freddie had got into trouble somehow? he thought, tossing the ball toward the ceiling and catching it again, over and over. What if he'd been mugged? Got hit by a car? Roger dismissed these thoughts, for the most part, because he knew they were silly. 

He knew that Freddie hadn't come home because he didn't want to, and that was worse than all the worst-case scenarios, because it was the truth.  
Roger caught the ball and dropped his hand by his head for a moment, closing his eyes. 

_Please believe me_  
_If you don't need me_  
_I'm going, but I need a little time_  
_I promised I would drown myself in mystic heated wine..._

It was fair enough, he figured. He _had_ literally told him to fuck off. But he hadn't _meant_ it. Not really. And Freddie knew that. Of course he knew that.  
He was punishing him, Roger thought grimly, opening his eyes again and throwing the ball up high. 

And it was fucking working. 

Roger caught the ball above his head, over the record player. 

So he had overreacted. He knew that. But there was just something that irked him so much, even now, about the thought of Freddie and Mary chatting away all evening. So fucking _interested_ in each other that they had all but forgotten the time. Long enough to have inside jokes, apparently. When they weren't even friends. _Apparently._

Freddie was _his_ friend. His person. _They_ had inside jokes and never-ending conversations and-

Jesus, Roger thought miserably, how the fuck had he turned into precisely the sort of clingy, possessive mental case he himself avoided like the plague, when it came to dating? 

Maybe Freddie was right to run for the hills. 

Roger sighed and checked his watch. 

Or maybe, he should go looking for him. A pointless endeavour though it would be, he was sure. 

_Free fall flow, river flow_  
_On and on it goes_  
_Breathe under water till the end..._

Fuck it, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. Surely anything was better than lying here like a sad abandoned puppy waiting for its owner to return. 

Roger pulled himself up, switched off the record player and went to put his shoes on. If nothing else, maybe a walk would clear his head. 

No sooner had he stepped out into the dimly lit stairwell and closed the door, than he came to an abrupt halt, not quite believing his eyes. 

'You have _got_ to be joking,' Roger thought, blinking at the dark silhouette at the bottom of stairs. He almost wanted to yell at him again - he'd been _worried_ , for fuck's sake - but he managed to remind himself that the last thing he wanted right now was more fighting. 

Even though Freddie must have heard him leave the flat, he didn't turn around or acknowledge him. 

Roger slowly descended the stairs and lowered himself down beside him. 

"So," he cleared his throat, glancing over at the other man in the dark. "You been here a while then?" 

Freddie had his arms folded on top of his knees, head leaning against the wall. His hair hung into his face and Roger could barely make it out. 

"It started raining," Freddie said quietly, reaching up to run his fingers through a few tangled strands. 

"It's been raining for a good hour." Roger pointed out. 

Freddie shrugged. "If you say so." 

There was a moment's silence. 

"Freddie-" Roger started. 

"Don't let me keep you," Freddie murmured at the same time, "Weren't you going somewhere?" 

"Yeah," Roger said, "Out looking for you." 

Freddie straightened a little, casting him a sideways glance. "Well... congratulations, you found me." 

Roger scooted a tiny bit closer, gently bumping Freddie's knee with his own. 

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I don't know why I got so cross." 

Freddie turned to him and gazed at him wordlessly with a guarded expression on his face. 

"I _do_ know," Roger found himself saying. He looked down at his hands, absently picking at a bit of dirt under his nail. 

"No one knows..." he murmured quietly, "About us."

Well, that was _almost_ true.  
It was true _enough_. 

"And I feel like..." Roger frowned, "Like I can't tell anyone to- oh, I don't know. It's stupid." 

"To back off?" Freddie said quietly, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

"Yeah. No. I don't know... it's just-" Roger's voice dropped to a whisper. "It's like you're not really mine." 

A slender hand came to rest on his knee and Roger reached for it, taking it in his as he lifted his eyes up at the other man. 

"How can you say that?" Freddie looked genuinely surprised at him. The wariness was gone. His eyes shone with emotion. 

"Trust me," he uttered, a solemn promise in the dark, "no one's ever had me so completely." 

Roger swallowed and lifted a hand up to his cheek, brushing his hair out of his face. 

"I'm sorry. I love you." 

They leaned into each other, forehead to forehead. Roger squeezed his hand tightly. Freddie smiled. 

"I love you, too. Now _please_ ," he sighed dramatically, "get me off these fucking stairs. My leg's gone to sleep and I'm dying for a piss." 

Roger snorted and rose to his feet, pulling him up. 

"No one _made_ you sit out here for an hour, you know. What if I hadn't come looking for you?" 

"But you did," Freddie cast him a look over his shoulder that was both complacent and grateful as he made his way up to their door, "so I guess we'll never know..." 

Roger shook his head at him with a smile and started up the stairs behind him, but just as he did, a faint creaking noise drew his attention. He frowned, eyes wandering to their downstairs neighbours' door, across from which they had sat. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes at the peephole for a moment. Everything was quiet.

"What's wrong?" Freddie called down from the top of the stairs. 

"Nothing," Roger shrugged, turning away, and followed him up. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two...  
> Roger: *storms off*  
> Freddie, not to be outdone: *STORMS OFF MORE DRAMATICALLY*
> 
> Okay, so let's see what the concensus is, whose 'side' are you all on? Let me know what you think, I'm dying to know.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Bulsara family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie Mercury trivia:  
> \- In Zanzibar, Freddie's father worked as a cashier for the British Consulate at the High Court and they were pretty affluent, employing a nanny named Sabine and house staff. They lived overlooking the sea.  
> \- Okay, so there are several different accounts and I'm not sure which is true, but I gather Freddie's grandparents and uncle lived in Bombay so he stayed with them a fair bit while studying at St. Peter's British boarding school near Bombay. Often he wasn't able to go back home for the holidays and was one of few students who had to spend them at school.  
> \- Freddie's nickname at school (you know, apart from "Freddie") was Bucky, for obvious reasons.  
> \- Allegedly, Freddie once came home crying to David (his first serious boyfriend after Mary) after dinner with his family because his mother had asked him if he was "up to his old tricks again", implying she had an idea about his sexuality.  
> \- It is very sweet how Freddie "comes out" to his parents in the movie, but in reality, his mother is quoted as saying he never discussed that part of his life with his family and that she was glad he didn't. 
> 
> **WARNING:** This chapter contains some references to what could easily be classed as child abuse now, in most of the western world, but was very commonplace a few decades ago and still is in other parts of the world.

\- - - 

The house smelled of fresh flowers, cooking spices and the sea breeze coming in through the open windows. The clinking of china and crystal could be heard as Niesha, the new maid, set the table. Farrokh liked her. She smiled a lot and tickled him with the feather duster if he ran up to her while she was cleaning. Farrokh thought he liked her more than Sabine, the nanny who took care of him most days, because she was often cross when he was left alone with her. But right now, Niesha was busy. Everyone seemed very, very busy, rushing around and getting everything ready for the formal dinner party. Farrokh, of course, didn't know his parents were having a formal dinner party to which several of his father's work colleagues from the High Court had been invited. Everyone had neglected to inform Farrokh of the importance of this event, because he was, after all, only four years old.  
Sabine had taken him out of the house for most of the day, but now that he was home, it didn't take long for the excitement to catch. He knew something _festive_ was happening and he immediately and desperately wanted to be a part of it.  
Farrokh ran around the house while Sabine prepared his supper, tiny bare feet pattering on the stone-tile floors, shooed out of the way in almost every room he entered, until he came to the door of his parents' bedroom and gazed inside. 

His mother was sitting at the intricately carved dressing table, wearing a dress the colour of ripe rambutan fruit. The shiny material cascaded off the sides of the chair. She finished applying powder to her face and picked up the lipstick, carefully lining her lips with it. Farrokh's eyes were drawn to her earrings, little tear-shaped jewels, sparkling in the sunlight falling in through the window. His mother caught sight of him in the mirror and smiled. 

"Priyatama, tame sum kari rahya cho?"  
( _Darling, what are you doing_?) 

Farrokh giggled and half hid behind the door, peeking at her from behind it. Jer laughed and turned back to the mirror, finishing off her bottom lip before she caught his curious eyes in the mirror and blew him a kiss. 

"Mummy...!" Farrokh smiled brightly at her, hanging on to the door handle and swinging back into the room together with the door.  
"Tum bahu sundara lage che!"  
( _You look beautiful!_ ) 

"Thank you, ducky," Jer replied, in English, raising her eyebrows expectantly in the mirror. 

"You're welcome," Farrokh replied dutifully, albeit a little shyly, but then he almost immediately burst into a loud rendition of Baa, Baa, Black Sheep as he wandered off toward the kitchen. 

Fed and bathed, Farrokh was dressed up smartly at his mother's behest in order to be presentable in front of the arriving guests, for all of half an hour, before he was undressed again and put to bed. It was earlier than his usual bedtime, and even though Sabine assured him that it was time to sleep and threatened him with a smacked bottom if he didn't, Farrokh wasn't fooled. The last rays of sunlight were still coming through the shutters. As he lay awake, he could hear the music, the voices and laughter from the living room. He could hear people up and down the corridor, and then the sounds of the gathering moved further away, to the dining room. Sabine looked in on him once or twice, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.  
And then, he heard the nanny bid her farewell to his mother and leave. 

After some time, endlessly curious about what was happening in the other rooms and entirely unable to go to sleep in the midsummer heat, Farrokh climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. For a long time, he simply stood there, door slightly ajar, and listened to the myriad of sounds. But eventually, emboldened by the fact that no one was coming to check on him, he snuck out of his room and tiptoed down the corridor. The door to his parents' bedroom was open. Farrokh wandered inside and switched on the light. There on the dressing table shimmered and shone his mother's jewellery inside the open jewellery box. Colourful and bright. Like _treasure_. 

In the dining room, Niesha had just finished refilling wine glasses when she noticed him. Unfortunately, she didn't have the presence of mind to shoo him back out straight away. Instead, she gave a loud, surprised shriek and the entire table turned to see what had startled her so. 

There were gasps and incredulous, uncomfortable laughter as Farrokh's parents and their guests beheld him, standing in the door in nothing but his pyjama bottoms and _all_ of his mother's necklaces. Her white lace gloves were on his hands, pulled up to his elbows, and covered in red stains. The latter was a result of the lipstick smudged across his face. 

"Look, I am beautiful," he proudly declared in English, smiling from ear to ear, and that was all he managed to say before his mother whisked him out of the room. 

He understood that he was in trouble immediately by the way she yanked his arm, her grip painfully tight. When she dragged him into the bathroom, he was already in tears. Soap stung in his eyes as she scrubbed his face clean, berating him.

 _'What is wrong with you? Why are you not in bed? Why are you not sleeping? How dare you? Unbelievable. Naughty boy. Naughty. What is_ wrong _with you?'_

No sooner had she returned him to his bedroom, free from jewellery but still smelling of her expensive perfume which he had doused himself in, than his father came into the room and asked her to tend to the guests. 

Farrokh had never seen his father look so furious with him before. Nor had he ever been spanked with a belt before. But there was a first time for everything. 

\- - - 

Still half asleep, Roger sat up in bed, accepting the cereal bowl thrust into his hands. 

"Uh, thanks," he mumbled. "You didn't have to."

"A bet's a bet," Freddie shrugged, and wandered off to the bathroom. 

By the time he returned, fresh out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips, Roger had finished his cereal and was standing at the sink, rinsing the bowl.  
He glanced around at Freddie, who was looking through his clothes, searching for something suitable to wear. The fight they'd had last night had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and even though everything _seemed_ fine, Roger didn't feel like it really was. He put the bowl aside, dried his hands on his pyjama shorts (they had yet to acquire a dish cloth) and went to sit on Freddie's bed, watching him dress himself. 

"What time are we going round to your parents' tonight?" he asked, and almost immediately regretted bringing it up when Freddie let out a wretched groan, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling in dismay. 

"Six o'clock or so," he sighed as he did up his trousers. 

"Hey," Roger said softly, leaning over and catching his arm, his hand sliding down to take Freddie's. "Come on, it can't be worse than _my_ parents." 

Freddie met his eyes, allowing himself to be pulled down onto the bed beside him. But instead of a reply, he leaned onto Roger's shoulder, gripping his hand tightly. 

"Should I not go?" Roger offered, not exactly hiding the disappointment in his voice. "Just go by yourself, tell them I couldn't make it. If it makes you that uncomfortable..."

Freddie lifted his head to look at him. He actually seemed to consider it, for a moment. Roger lowered his eyes, looking at their joined hands, wondering why it bothered him so much that Freddie hated the idea of him having dinner with his family. 

"It's not you," Freddie said softly and kissed his shoulder. Sweetly, apologetically. 

"I know," Roger mumbled. He did. He did know. But for some reason that didn't make him feel any better. 

"No excuses. You're coming," Freddie told him. "I really don't want to hear about how I'm too embarrassed to bring friends over all night." 

Roger couldn't help but smile a little. When Freddie moved to get up, he pulled him back down gently, raising his eyes up to him. 

"What?" Freddie asked. 

"I'm really sorry about last night," Roger said quietly. It all seemed rather childish, in hindsight, in the light of day. 

Freddie squeezed his hand, a smile on his lips. "Water under the bridge, darling," he told him and pecked him on the lips. 

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, still holding hands. Roger leaned in and kissed him again. Properly, this time. All lips, soft and slow. Innocent though it was, the kiss sent a warm shiver of excitement through him. Freddie gave a little contented hum, smiling when they pulled apart again. 

"I have to brush my teeth," Roger mumbled. 

"Go." 

Freddie gave his backside a slap when he got up to leave and Roger looked back over his shoulder with a little smirk. 

"What do I get if tonight goes great and your parents _love_ me?"

"My hand in marriage!" Freddie laughed, and Roger snorted as he ducked into the bathroom, shaking his head. 

" _Not_ what I had in mind!" he called back.

Freddie was still laughing heartily in the other room. 

\- - -

Identical rows of houses whizzed by outside. All white bay windows, round chimneys and brown brick. The wheels screeched on the rails as the train sped around a bend. It was rush hour, but the carriage had emptied out considerably now that they were entering the outskirts of London. Seats had freed up and they had sat down beside each other a couple of stations ago. 

"Don't bring up the partition," Freddie said out of the blue, grabbing on to Roger's wrist and making him jump slightly. "Dear god, please don't bring up the partition."

"The... partition," Roger said, inflecting upward at the end ever so slightly, as though afraid to actually make it a question. 

Freddie looked over at him and realised Roger had no idea what in the world he was talking about. 

"Of India." Freddie said flatly.

"Oh, yeah... right," Roger nodded slowly, staring off into space for a moment, looking like he was desperately trying to remember history class. 

Freddie suppressed a smile and patted Roger's wrist before he pulled his hand back. "Nevermind, dear." 

Getting off at Feltham station felt _wrong_. But then again, it had felt that way long before he had moved away. Freddie absently wondered what the opposite of belonging was as they left the station behind and walked up the road together.  
Aversion? Repulsion? 

The latter seemed a bit strong, but it was safe to say that Feltham had never felt like home. 

Freddie nervously smoked two cigarettes on the ten minute walk, flicking the second one aside as they turned into Gladstone Avenue. It had to be said that Roger was being rather wonderful about the fact that Freddie was clearly turning into a nervous wreck the closer they got to his parents' house. He cracked jokes and chatted away, as usual, pretending not to notice. Freddie was grateful for that. He had never wanted to hold Roger's hand so badly, and at the same time been so afraid to touch him or even walk too close beside him, as when his family's house came into view. 

A part of him wanted to laugh hysterically. 

Laugh and laugh at the fact that somehow, unbelievably, he was willingly bringing his- well, quite simply put, his _boyfriend_ over for dinner to meet his parents. 

Of all the unlikely scenarios Freddie could imagine, this certainly cracked the top five. 

\- - -

When he was eleven and a half years old, Freddie - (whose real name was Farrokh, but who had started thinking of himself as Freddie just like many other boys at St. Peter's who had adopted their English moniker over their birth name) - spent several weeks of his life living in absolute, unrelenting, paralysing fear. 

All because of one sentence which he could not get out of his mind. It hung over him like the sword of Damocles, tainting his every waking moment and haunting his dreams.  
One sentence. The last words his best friend Rishi had said to him, before he never spoke to him again.  
Not for many weeks. 

The words Rishi had shouted at him. Almost as an afterthought, as he had taken off running. Away from him. Leaving Freddie where he had fallen, in the mud by the wayside, crestfallen and mortified. 

"I'll tell _everybody_!" 

The most terrifying part of this threat was that Freddie had no concept of the severity of his transgression. But he suspected that his fate would be a terrible one if Rishi told everyone what had happened that day. 

His fanciful young mind ran wild with fear. If Rishi told their classmates, surely he would be ridiculed and shunned. As if his hideous teeth didn't already make him enough of a target. 'Hey, Bucky! Bucky horse-face!' At least the boys in his class knew him and liked him well. They did not tease him as cruelly and mercilessly as some other students who didn't know him personally and only saw the enormous overbite. What would they shout at him across the yard now? What insults would they hiss in his ear in the corridors as they shoved him into the wall? 

_'Bucky bender!'_

If even Rishi, sweet Rishi, who had always been there to help him pick up his books when they were knocked out of his hands, to grab him by the arm and turn a cold shoulder on nasty jeers flung his way, to laugh it off and tell him to hell with them all, if even _he_ now wouldn't so much as look at him, how could Freddie harbour any hope that his other friends wouldn't abandon him as well the moment they knew? 

Every murmur in the hallway roused Freddie's suspicion, every whisper and every glance directed at him in the classroom and in the dorms made his breath hitch. Did they know? Did they know yet? What if they did? What if they were talking behind his back, planning to play cruel pranks on him? Was he about to be cornered? Spat on? Beaten? 

But worse still was the thought of what might happen to him if Rishi told a schoolmaster. He knew all too well that laughing and insolence in class alone could easily get you one or two strokes of the cane. What was he in for? How grave was his offence? What if it warranted suspension, too? If it did, well then, his family would be informed. 

His grandparents, here in Bombay.  
And then his parents. 

He was done for. 

He couldn't breathe.  
He struggled to pay attention in class.  
He cried himself to sleep, certain that the next day would be the day it all came crashing down.  
He woke from nightmares bathed in cold sweat.  
He felt sick to his stomach when the thoughts just wouldn't stop and he couldn't swallow a bite.  
He wanted to scratch his own eyes out because _despite everything_ he couldn't stop staring at Rishi, who ignored him completely, and every time his heart beat a little faster and broke into a million pieces all at once. 

After a fortnight of barely eating and fitful sleep, Freddie fell sick with a high fever which persisted for several days. Eventually, he was written off sick for a week, which he spent at his grandparents' house, being nursed back to health with hot broth and prayer. 

Coming back to school felt like going to his own funeral. A strange sense of resignation had set in. Whatever was going to happen to him, would happen, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

But Rishi never did tell anyone about the kiss, and the declaration of love which had preceded it. 

Many weeks later, he told Freddie that he was never going to. 

To his surprise, Freddie didn't feel relief. He didn't feel much of anything at all, not for some time.

\- - - 

Roger had no idea what Freddie had been so worried about. The Bulsaras were perfectly lovely people. If anything, they were all a little on the quiet side and didn't bombard him with too many questions. Freddie's mum especially simply seemed quite pleased to have her son over for a meal.  
Although just like Freddie, they seemed to warm up after a while and before he knew it, Roger was listening to anecdotes about their life in Stone Town.

"Remember when Niesha opened the door early one morning and screamed? And we all came running?" Kash chuckled, exchanging a look with her mother, "But it was just Freddie, back for the holidays a day early, and she said he'd grown so much he gave her a fright!" 

"Well, it wasn't difficult to give Niesha a fright," Mrs. Bulsara said, shaking her head with a smile as she glanced over at Freddie. 

"Who's Niesha?" Roger asked, trying not to clear his plate completely seeing as everyone else was barely halfway through their meal. Either he was a really fast eater compared to them or the food was really good. 

The food _was_ really good. 

"Would you like some more?" Mrs. Bulsara asked, all but reading his mind. 

"Yes, please, I'll have a little more if you don't mind," Roger accepted gladly. 

"Niesha was one of our maids," Freddie's father told him as Freddie's mother took his plate and disappeared into the kitchen. "She was a nice girl, she was with us for a long time." 

Roger's eyebrows shot up. " _One_ of your maids?" 

"There were only two, and one of them was technically my tutor." Freddie clarified with a subtle roll of his eyes. 

'That's still two more maids than I had growing up,' Roger thought, amused. 

"Don't make it sound like we had an army of servants, papa," Freddie added quietly. 

His father pointed his fork at him. "You had a very blessed life in Zanzibar, Freddie." 

"No, _you_ did." Freddie met his father's gaze, his expression closed off, bordering on bored. "I was in Bombay with nanabapa and nanima." 

His father looked back at him for a while but said nothing. Roger made an educated guess. 

"Your grandparents?" 

Freddie turned to him and then immediately frowned down at his plate, realisation hitting. "Yes, god- sorry." He made a face, seemingly upset with himself. "My grandpa and grandma."

"Don't worry," Roger said earnestly, giving him a reassuring smile. The odd word in a language he didn't understand was hardly the offence Freddie appeared to think it was. Freddie's parents had an accent but spoke impeccable English, he thought, and Fred and his sister sounded posher than he did. Meanwhile, Roger could just about string a couple of sentences together in French, so if anyone had reason to be embarrassed about their _lack_ of linguistic prowess it should have probably been him. 

"There you are, dear." Mrs. Bulsara returned with his plate and a smile. 

Roger thanked her and, for a while, everyone ate in silence. He chanced a glance at Freddie and managed to catch his eye briefly, which was a bit of a feat, because Roger could tell he was determined not to look at him tonight unless strictly necessary. 'It's alright,' Roger tried to convey, as much as he could, in one look, 'this is going well, no?' Freddie pulled his top lip over his teeth and turned back to his food. 

"Your course is almost finished, isn't it," Freddie's father glanced over at his son from the head of the table. "Do you have any plans to find work?" 

"Yes," Freddie replied, and left it at that. 

His father laughed dryly. "Silence speaks louder than words, is that not what they say?" 

Once again, Freddie said nothing, listlessly poking at his food instead. But his father persisted. 

"All I would like to know is what kind of work you are hoping to get with a degree in _art_." 

The last word carried more than a hint of displeasure, and Roger felt strongly reminded of his own father all of a sudden. 

_Disgraceful. Embarrassing._

Maybe all dads were the same. 

"Not everyone can excel at sitting at a desk day in, day out." Freddie murmured by his side. 

Roger just about managed not to snort with laughter, choosing to take a few long sips of water instead. However, Mr. Bulsara turned his attention away from Freddie and fixed him with a stern look. 

"Can I ask you, Roger? Do _you_ talk to your father like this?"

Roger looked up wide-eyed. "Uh-" 

"Papa. _Don't_ ," Freddie all but hissed. 

"Please..." his mother whispered, placing a placating hand on her husband's arm. 

Kashmira had stopped chewing, watching it all unfold with wide eyes while Freddie met their mother's gaze, now resting on him. 

"Freddie," she uttered, somehow managing to sound pleading, disappointed and put out all at once. 

The spark of defiance in Freddie's eyes faded as they glossed over with indifference once more. He turned to his father, not quite looking at him. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologise to me," Mr. Bulsara waved a dismissive hand, clearly still agitated, "Look how uncomfortable you made your friend. You should apologise to him." 

Roger realised he had frozen with the fork halfway to his mouth. He lowered it, clearing his throat. So maybe things weren't going swimmingly, but if he could throw Freddie a lifeline, he would. 

"Actually," he said, "I was just thinking how sensible Freddie is, really. All he does is work on his dissertation these days. I can't even get you to come out for a drink, eh, Fred?" Roger glanced at Freddie with a crooked smile, noting the confusion on his face, and quickly continued, his tone deliberately blasé: "Which is a right shame 'cause I've been spending most of my time between the pub and Kensington Market ever since I dropped out of college." 

He tucked into his food nonchalantly and could practically feel everyone's eyes on him. It was Kash who took the bait. 

"You dropped out of college?" she asked quietly, sounding both horrified and secretly impressed. 

"Yeah," Roger shrugged, looking up at her with a confident smirk, "to focus on my band. Pretty sure we're gonna make it big soon, so who needs college, am I right?"

If disapproving looks could kill, Freddie's parents would have been charged with murder. Meanwhile, Kashmira was staring at him in a way he knew well, which was mildly hilarious. Roger was pretty certain that he could have asked her out there and then and she would have been tempted to leave on his arm. Although thinking of Freddie's sister that way, even in jest, was just plain weird. Roger's eyes wandered over to him briefly, taking in the astounded expression on his face. Freddie's lips gave a little twitch. Glancing at Freddie's parents quickly, who were exchanging an appalled look, and Kash, who smiled and lowered her gaze to her plate, Roger gave Freddie a subtle wink. It brought forth the grin Freddie had been trying so hard to suppress. 

"There is good money in advertising, they say," Mr. Bulsara spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. "And it's everywhere now. I'm sure they always need illustrators."

"Freddie, when is the graduation ceremony?" Mrs. Bulsara asked. 

As the conversation turned to the end of Freddie's course and to his future again, it was in a considerably more favourable light.

If Freddie’s parents thought ill of him now, Roger thought, at least they didn’t show it. As dinner finished, more stories of Freddie’s life before London were told, much to Roger’s delight. Freddie fled to play the piano for a while when a photo album was brought out, although it didn’t quite prove the distraction he had hoped it might be.  
Shortly after Freddie gave up and returned to join Roger on the sofa, they found themselves alone for the first time since their arrival. Mrs. Bulsara and Kashmira had disappeared into the kitchen with the dirty dishes and his father had just excused himself to the bathroom. The photo album still lay open on the coffee table.

" _Farrokh_?" Roger leaned in close to Freddie, his voice low and the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth. 

Freddie gave a tortured sigh, rolling his eyes almost all the way into the back of his head. "Please, _please_ don't."

"Oh, no, I don't think you understand," Roger grinned, "I can't believe I didn't know your actual bloody name all this time! Freds, you're _never_ living this down." 

"But it's not my name." Freddie protested and shot him a look which was so genuinely disgruntled that Roger's smile faltered. 

"Don't worry," he murmured, rethinking the playful approach he had taken, and added with a little shrug: "You'll always be Freddie to me." He gave Freddie's knee a very brief pat. "Fred. Frederick. _Fredster._ "

Freddie snorted and cracked a smile, his head rolling in Roger's direction as though he would have liked to put it on his shoulder.  
Roger would have liked that, too. 

"You'll always be _my_ Freddie," he told him, very quietly, and waggled his eyebrows a little because, Christ, that was just about the cheesiest thing to say and he couldn't do it with a straight face.

Freddie didn't say anything, he just tutted softly and smiled, gazing at him for a long moment, his expression much more relaxed now. Eyes gentle and thoughtful. Roger felt the light brush of Freddie's knuckles on the back of his hand and returned the gesture. Only a hint of intimacy, yet it made his chest glow warm. 

The lock on the bathroom door clicked and they instinctively scooted a little further apart, just as Kash returned from the kitchen. Roger turned toward her and noticed Freddie's mother behind her in the doorway, looking directly at him. However, when he saw her, her eyes quickly wandered to Freddie. 

"Freddie, please help me put the dishes away?"

With a curt nod, Freddie made his way to the kitchen. 

\- - -

All three of them were punished equally, seeing as neither Freddie nor the two older boys were willing to disclose what exactly had occurred in the changing rooms that night.  
Five strokes of the cane, calls and formal letters to their families, suspension. Perhaps the latter was encouraged by the fact that it was the end of term, and missing the last week, which was full of social events but almost entirely moot academically, was too perfect a punishment to pass up. 

Freddie didn't care. He knew he wasn't returning to St. Peter's after this summer. At fifteen years old, almost sixteen, he was well-known and well-liked among most of his peers and had been sad to leave his friends behind. But now, he _wanted_ to leave, and he never wanted to return. 

His grandparents and his uncle in Bombay were dismayed about it all, of course. But he must have looked a pitiful sight - the bruises, the black eye, the split lip - because they weren't too hard on him. Or perhaps it was that they had never seen him smile so little or heard him speak so few words as in the days which followed his suspension. 

However, by the time Freddie arrived in Stone Town almost two weeks later, he no longer looked battered and bruised and his first day back in his family home after eight years away, not just for the holidays, but back _for good_ , was filled with nothing but shouting and reproach. Freddie just hung his head, devoid of defiance, putting up no fight, as disgusted with himself as his parents were disappointed in him. 

After all, he had brought this on himself. He was to blame. 

Just like his teachers and the headmaster, Freddie's father, too, was particularly upset that Freddie wouldn't say how the fight had come about. Freddie had been in a few scraps over the years, but he really wasn't the type to get into fights. He had certainly never broken anyone's nose until now. 

His mother remained quiet, for the most part, watching him intently and thoughtfully while his father raged. 

On the morning of his second day home, once Kashmira had left for school and her husband was at work, Jer found him in his room. Freddie had heard everyone leave, listening to their muffled conversations as he lay in bed, watching the wind ruffle the curtains and listening to the distant sound of the waves. It was all so familiar, yet so completely foreign to him. 

He was trying to will himself into getting up when his mother came in and perched down on the side of the bed. 

"Priyatama..." 

Freddie turned to look at her and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, shying away from the hand she tried to place on his arm. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't at breakfast," he apologised immediately. 

"Aren't you hungry?" his mother asked, in English. It had been years since Freddie had spoken Gujarati to her, or anyone else for that matter. This had not entirely discouraged her from trying, however, every now and again.

"No, thank you." He replied and turned back to the window.

"Freddie," his mother said softly. This time her hand found him, gently cupping his cheek. And then she asked the one question nobody had asked him yet, or not with any degree of sincerity, anyway. 

"Are you alright?" 

He looked at her then, with a frown, his bottom lip quivering, just barely. But to a mother, that was enough. 

"Oh, ducky," Jer sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace, and for the first time since the night in the changing rooms, Freddie burst into tears and _wept_. His mother held him for what felt like a long time. 

"Tell me what happened," she said eventually, stroking the back of his head. "Tell me." 

"I can't," he sobbed into her shoulder. "I _can't_... I'm s-sorry-"

She sat with him, fingers smoothing over his hair, and waited until he was breathing more evenly.

"Then just answer me yes or no." 

Freddie's shoulders tensed and he grew still, as though too afraid to move. 

"Those boys... Did you know them well?" 

Freddie drew a shuddering breath and shook his head against her shoulder. 

"They were older, yes?" 

"Yes," he whispered. 

There was a long pause. Freddie realised that even after all these years, even after countless holidays spent all but alone at boarding school because he couldn't travel home - ‘Maybe next holiday, money is tight, maybe in the winter, maybe, maybe…’ - the scent of his mother's perfume still smelled like home. And he couldn't remember the last time she had held him in her arms like this.

"Did they... want something from you?" she finally asked, after a moment, and her tone was much the same as the headmaster's when Freddie was questioned about the incident. 

_What were you doing in the changing rooms at this hour?_

Except there was concern and kindness in her voice, and in that moment, he suddenly and fervently hoped that perhaps she might understand. 

"Freddie..."

He sniffed and nodded faintly against her shoulder. Jer exhaled sharply, holding him a little tighter. 

"Were they going to hurt you?" 

Freddie sobbed quietly and nodded again. His mother appealed to the Lord in her native tongue, a pained whisper, taking him by the shoulders as she pulled back to look at him. 

"Is that what happened?" she asked. “You were trying to stop them?”

Freddie would not lift his head nor his eyes, but gave another small nod. 

"Oh, my darling boy," she drew him close again, and he couldn't see the tears in her eyes but he could hear them in her voice. "Did they- Freddie, did they _hurt_ you?" 

She took him by the shoulders again, pulling back, almost shaking him this time. 

"Look at me! Did they hurt you? Farrokh, _mane javaba apo_!"  
( _Answer me_!) 

"N-no!" he choked out, gazing up at her through tears, fully aware that she wasn't talking about punches and kicks and bruises. And that she knew he wasn’t, either.

She stared at him firmly, searching his eyes, and then breathed a sigh of relief and released his shoulders.

"Thank the Lord," she murmured, producing a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing his face with it, "Thank the Lord. Oh Freddie, how did this happen? How did you get yourself in trouble like that? What were you _doing_ there?"

"I..." His voice was barely a whisper, eyes firmly glued to the crumpled sheets beside him. "I thought it was only one of them."

His mother's hand froze, pressed against his cheek, and then slowly lowered. He felt his chest tighten and he couldn't breathe, couldn't unsay the words.

“What did you say?” she whispered slowly.

Freddie felt like he was choking on his heart, stuck in his throat.

"Freddie, were you sneaking out to meet one of those boys?" his mother asked, an edge to her tone that hadn't been there before. "Alone?"

Freddie couldn't answer. His voice had abandoned him. He felt faint, nauseous, strangely tingly and numb at the same time.

"Mane jutha na bolo."  
( _Don't lie to me._ )

Freddie felt himself nod so subtly he wasn't sure she had even seen it, but the next moment he knew she had, because she slapped him across the face. It wasn't a very forceful slap, but it made him jump, momentarily tearing him out of the complete state of panic he was spiraling into. He looked up at her wide-eyed, instinctively cradling his cheek. The look on her face was one of disappointment, sheer horror and dismay.

"Bhagavana tamane madada kare che," she whispered, shaking her head.  
( _Lord help you._ ) 

Freddie started sobbing again, burying his face in his hands, mumbling apologies through the tears.

"Don't cry," Jer told him, moving his hands away, lifting his face and forcing him to look her in the eye. "You are lucky. You are lucky, Freddie. The Lord had mercy and gave you a warning, do you understand? This was a sign, a warning for you."

Freddie nodded, biting his lips. 

"Listen to me now." She held on to him firmly, and he didn't dare look away. "You did right. You must never, ever speak a word of this to anyone. Never, do you hear me?"

He nodded again, sniffling and trying not to sob. She needn't have worried, because he wasn't going to tell anyone ever again until the end of his life. 

"These things are of the devil, Freddie. Don't let him lead you into temptation. Don’t let him pervert you. Do you see where he can lead you if you let him? You must _never_ let him. Swear to me that you won't. Swear it!"

"I swear," Freddie replied in a hoarse whisper, and it was a promise he kept.

Until the day when, many years later, a fresh-faced young man with an infectious smile and messy dark blond hair took him by the hand and kissed him.

\- - -

As he stacked the clean plates onto the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, Freddie could hear Roger make conversation in the living room. With Kash, for the most part. His mind wandered as his mother told him something or other about a family next door that had just moved from Bombay. Freddie nodded, only half listening, until his mother stopped beside him, dish cloth in hand.

"Freddie," she said, and didn't continue until he stopped and looked at her.

There was a shrewdness in her eyes, and something else that he couldn't quite place. 

"What is it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows a little.

Slowly and subtly, his mother's eyes flicked toward the living room, before they returned to him. 

"Are you up to your old tricks again?" she said, an edge to her voice. 

Freddie just stared at her as his stomach dropped down a bottomless hole.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You didn't think Freddie's early life flashbacks would be _less_ awful than Roger's, did you?
> 
> Please talk to me and tell me what you think, I would love that.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday with the kids so writing time is limited, but here's the next chapter finally! There's a throwback to chapter three in here! I sure hope you all remember. Lol
> 
> Also, I just want you to know that I wrote three quarters of this to Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur. I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to quote some lyrics at you. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Don't know why I'm still afraid_  
>  _If you weren't real I would make you up_  
>  _Now_
> 
> _I wish that I could follow through_  
>  _I know that your love is true and deep_  
>  _As the sea_
> 
> _But right now_   
>  _Everything you want is wrong,_   
>  _And right now_   
>  _All your dreams are waking up,_   
>  _And right now_   
>  _I wish I could follow you_   
>  _To the shores_   
>  _Of freedom,_   
>  _Where no one lives..._
> 
> If this song isn't perfect for most of this chapter then I don't know what is. Now, please, proceed.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta reader JMLaurence!

\- - - 

Roger gave Freddie a crooked smile, bumping his shoulder gently as they walked down the road together, away from Freddie's family home. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"No," Freddie said, a little absently, as he pulled out his cigarettes. He stopped for a moment to strike a match and lit one, taking a long drag before he slowly started walking again. He seemed tired and strangely dejected, Roger thought. 

"You alright?" he asked, watching Freddie out of the corner of his eye and wondering if there was something he had missed. If Freddie was in a mood or just exhausted. 

"Yeah," Freddie replied, smoke streaming from his lips and dissolving in the night air. 

"I still can't believe you grew up with half a dozen maids and nannies and whatnot," Roger teased with a chuckle, but Freddie only gave him a weak smile. 

"Fred." 

They had just rounded the corner, leaving Freddie's old street behind, and Roger stopped, hands in his pockets. Freddie turned back to him, holding his cigarette close to his lips.

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

Roger tilted his head, brows furrowed in concern. "That's what I was gonna ask you." 

"Oh." Freddie was looking at him but not really _looking_. He seemed miles away. 

"I said I'm fine," he replied with a hint of languid exasperation. 

Everything about his demeanor begged to differ. Roger's frown deepened. 

"Freddie, it's me," he said simply. "Talk to me."

Whatever Roger had expected, it wasn't what followed. For a long moment, Freddie looked at him in silence, his expression completely impassive. He took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly.

"I just-" he then said, and broke off. After a moment, he tried again. "I just wanna get _home_ -"

Freddie barely made it to the end of the sentence. His voice broke halfway through and his breath hitched, the mask of indifference cracking so fast it was like a dam breaking. His eyes glistened in the dark as he gave a quiet sob, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and Roger had already closed the distance between them. He pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling his shoulders tremble, even as Freddie tried to get a hold of himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, turning his head into Roger's hair with a quiet sniff, "I don't- I don't know why I'm _like_ this..."

"Hey, it's okay," Roger assured him gently even though he didn't have a single clue what in the world this was about. "It's okay."

It clearly wasn't okay. Freddie stifled a sob, dropping his barely started cigarette, and grabbed on to him as if he was afraid Roger might vanish into thin air. Christ, Roger thought, what's happened? He didn't really know what to do other than hold him tightly and hope that it was enough. 

\- - - 

"Are you up to your old tricks again?" 

"What?" Freddie managed to say, desperately trying to sound innocent. His mother's suspicious gaze rested on him firmly, twisting his insides in knots. 

"Don't lie to me." 

Her voice was hushed, a hint of reproach in it, but more than that, she sounded concerned. Anxious and deeply concerned. He closed the cabinet, frowning at her in feigned confusion. 

"Mama, what in the world are you talking about?"

It wasn't convincing enough. He could tell it wasn't, and he was almost entirely certain that everything down to the way he stood and leaned on the counter somehow gave him away. There was a growing, all-consuming sense of panic rising in his throat, cutting off his air supply, making him sick with dread. 

"Priyatama," she stepped closer to him, her voice so gentle and caring. He couldn't bring himself to look into her sad, worried eyes. "Hum jo'um chum ke tame tene kevi rite ju'o cho."  
( _I see the way you look at him._ )

"He's one of my best friends," Freddie made himself meet her eyes, shaking his head with a bemused smile, "You're imagining things..." 

"I pray that I'm imagining," his mother said, "I don't want to see you suffer, and- oh Freddie, you will _suffer_..." she broke off for a moment, lifting a hand to her mouth. "You think God won't punish you?" 

"Mama..." 

"No, let me talk, because I don't think you remember-" 

"You're wrong." Freddie insisted, surprised at how firm his voice sounded, but it still wasn't _enough_. 

"Don't lie," his mother uttered quietly, "I know when you lie to me." 

A part of him was a child again. Guilty and terrified and helpless, knowing he had been caught red handed and punishment was imminent and all he could do was confess and beg forgiveness. But he wasn't a child, and lying came easier, with time. With distance. With the loss of hope that one day, the truth might be met with understanding.

Freddie blinked and feigned an affronted look, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

"I'm not lying," he scoffed, and said the one thing which he hoped might just be enough to convince her, "There's... a girl I've been seeing. If you must know." 

This brought his mother up short. She raised her eyebrows, propping her hand up on her hip. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"And what is her name?" 

"Mary," Freddie replied, without a moment's hesitation. _Perfect._ He could make this work. This made sense. "She works at Biba," he continued, not giving his mother the chance to say another word. "right across the street from our flat. She lives with her father in Fulham, her mother died when she was fourteen years old. Both of her parents were deaf. This? Means 'good night'." Freddie repeated the last sign Mary had shown him only the night before, quietly ecstatic at his own genius to have thought of it off the top of his head. "Her favourite colour is burgundy and she likes to hear me sing. Now, is there anything _else_ you'd like to know?" There was a quiver in his voice as he channeled his dread into anger, committing to the lie so completely that he very nearly believed it himself. "Or is that quite enough?" 

His mother stared up at him for a long moment. Freddie looked back at her, unblinking, unwavering. And then, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Oh Freddie, I'm sorry," she murmured and gave an embarrassed little laugh, tilting her head to the side and looking him over with newfound pride. "Mane mapha karo."  
( _Please forgive me._ )

Freddie shrugged, averting his eyes. 

"I was worried... You know," she lowered her voice, glancing toward the living room. "your friend tena vala kapava jo'i'e, te eka _girl_ jevo lage che."  
( _...should cut his hair, he resembles a girl._ )

"So he's been told," Freddie said lightly, "but he likes it that way and the girls don't seem to think so. It's fashionable, mum."

"I know, I know," his mother waved a hand and tutted. "It looks better on you, if you ask me." She reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, a curious smile on her lips. "So..."

 _Oh god,_ Freddie thought, knowing full well what the next words out of her mouth would be. 

He wasn't disappointed. 

"When will you bring Mary for dinner?" 

Freddie forced a smile as he drummed his fingertips on the countertop, somewhere between disbelief that he was getting away with this and utter despair because _how_ was he going to get away with this? 

"It's a bit soon for that," he told his mother, pulling his lip over his teeth, and managed to look her in the eye once more. "We'll see." 

She was gazing at him with such adoration. Freddie wanted to cry, a thin-lipped fake smile frozen on his lips. He couldn't remember the last time she had looked so happy for him. 

\- - - 

"I'm sorry, _fuck_ ," Freddie all but pushed Roger away, suddenly embarrassed and furious with himself. He took a few steps backward and wiped his tear-streaked face on his sleeve. "God, let's just go home. Please." 

And with that he turned and took off down the road. Roger caught up and fell into step with him, watching him cautiously. Confused, worried and really hoping for some sort of explanation.

"Will you stop _staring_ at me?" Freddie snapped at him instead, shooting him an irritated glance. 

Roger blinked, taken aback by his harsh tone, and looked away. 

"I would if you told me what's going on," he grumbled quietly, reaching for his own cigarettes. When he stopped to light one, Freddie didn't so much as slow down. Roger looked up from the box of matches he was holding and took the unlit cigarette out from between his lips. 

"Hey! Are you just gonna walk off without me or what?" 

Freddie stopped and whipped around, throwing up his arms. "Well, come the fuck _on_ then!" 

Roger gave him an indignant look and then slowly put the cigarette back in his mouth. The match he was trying to light snapped in half and Freddie tutted impatiently.

"Listen," Roger tossed the broken match aside and looked up, tucking the cigarette away behind his ear. "if you're gonna take it out on me, I think you better tell me what's wrong." 

There was a beat. Freddie narrowed his eyes at him, a hand on his hip. 

"This was a terrible idea is what's wrong!" he finally exploded, eyes flashing with a sudden bout of anger. "And I wish you'd never agreed to it in the first place. Now can we _please_ just go _the fuck_ home?" 

"But what _happened_?" Roger caught up to him with a few quick strides, "I don't understand what happened! Did your parents say something to you? Did I do something wrong?"

Freddie stared at him, his jaw tense. It looked as though he was trying to decide what to say, but in the end, he simply turned away with a huff.

"It doesn't matter." 

_Oh, for the love of-_

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Freddie! It clearly does! Why can't you just talk to me?" 

Freddie's eyes snapped back to him, dark and irate. "I don't _want_ to talk about it, alright? Can you fucking well leave me _alone_?"

"But _you're_ the one who's-" Roger broke off and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, fixing him with an angry glare in return. "You know what? _Fine_. Be that way." 

With that, he shouldered past Freddie and started walking down the road at a brisk pace. _Fucking hell._ He had only spent all night doing his level best to make sure the evening was as much of a success as it could be, given how anxious Freddie had been about it all. He had quite frankly expected a 'thank you' or some form of acknowledgement of that, at least. Certainly not _this_. If he'd fucked it up somehow, surely the least he was owed was an explanation. 

But as he marched away, it quickly became apparent that Freddie wasn't following. Roger cast a glance back over his shoulder and slowed down, before coming to a halt with a heavy, exasperated sigh. He looked up at the dark sky. 

Well, this was fucking stupid. He was tempted to keep walking out of sheer stubbornness. But what good would that do? 

Besides, Freddie was clearly _not okay_. 

Roger looked back over his shoulder again. The other man had barely moved, standing where he had left him. Eyes downcast and arms crossed tightly, almost protectively, in front of his chest. 

His anger waning, Roger turned and started walking back to him. 

"Fred." 

The dark-haired man glanced up briefly and turned his face away. Roger came to a halt beside him, hands on his hips. 

"Come on, we're not doing this again." 

"Just go away," Freddie murmured quietly. The anger seemed to have drained out of him, like air from a balloon, leaving him deflated and limp. 

"No." Roger shook his head. "You don't mean that." 

Freddie glanced up at him and blinked, caught out by the bluntness of his words. Then he lowered his head again and dropped his arms by his sides in defeat. 

"You're right." His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I don't..." 

There was something so vulnerable about him in that moment as he stood staring at the ground in complete capitulation. 

Roger glanced around the empty street, the drawn curtains, the dark windows. Then he stepped forward, sliding one arm around Freddie's waist, and raised a hand to his cheek. 

"Hey..." He lifted Freddie's head up and pressed a brief, gentle kiss to his lips. Freddie's eyes widened as he pulled away. 

"Rog-" 

"No, I don't give a fuck," Roger whispered, pulling him close again and leaning his forehead against Freddie's. "I _love_ you. Do you hear me? You can't get rid of me that easily." 

Freddie gave a sad chuckle and swallowed, hesitantly sliding his arms around him in return. 

"Why?" he asked, after a moment. 

Roger ran his thumb over Freddie's cheek and caught a stray tear. 

"Why what?" 

"Why do you love me?"

Roger leaned back just enough to look at him, genuinely puzzled by the question. 

"'Cause... I _do_." 

"What's there to love?" Freddie uttered, his voice barely there, a strangely vacant expression in his eyes. 

Roger's eyebrows shot up. "Are you crazy? Fred..." He couldn't help but laugh, incredulous. "You... You're my favourite person. Ever." 

Freddie snorted self-deprecatingly. 

"I'm serious, you arsehole!" Roger insisted, holding his gaze. "How dare you say that, I swear. You're a great friend. The absolute best. You always have my back. You're hilarious, and you're way smarter than me but you're not a dick about it-" 

Freddie rolled his eyes. "That is blatantly untrue."

"Yeah, you're right, you _are_ a dick about it," Roger teased with a grin, making him laugh. "You're just... you're _you_. And I love you." 

Freddie gave a little sniff and Roger sighed and swallowed. "Okay, will you please stop crying? I can't deal with this, _Jesus_."

"Sorry," Freddie chuckled and took a deep breath, glancing up at the night sky as he wiped his face. "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm a mess."

He took Roger's hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "Thank you," Freddie murmured against his fingers. "I love you, too. I love you... I'm sorry." 

Fuck it, Roger thought, and moved their joint hands out of the way, sealing his lips with a deep, heartfelt kiss. Freddie made a surprised little sound and pulled away after a few moments, cheeks flushed, eyes darting around the houses and the dark street.

"Fuck 'em," Roger shrugged, squeezing his hand tightly. "It's not like I'm blowing you in the middle of the road, I mean-"

Freddie snorted with laughter, dropping his head onto Roger's shoulder. "Oh god..." he half-sighed, half-sobbed, "I need a stiff drink."

"Good call." Roger agreed with a sage nod. "Let's get pissed."

They slowly set off down the road together. Roger put an arm around Freddie's shoulders and Freddie let him. It was just ambiguous enough to pass for a friendly gesture, anyway. Perhaps. Roger honestly couldn't care less at this point. If the few people they passed on their walk back to the station looked at them strangely, he didn't notice.

A pub came into sight as they turned a corner, and Roger slowed down a little, nodding toward it.

"Shall we have a cheeky one here before we get on the train? It's prolly cheaper than our neighbourhood."

Freddie hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning the handful of empty benches and tables out front. "If it's not too crowded..."

"Looks pretty dead to me," Roger said, letting go of him and leading the way up to the door.

When they stepped inside, Freddie took a quick look around and seemed to relax at the sight of a few old codgers by the bar and a group of middle aged men taking up one table, grumbling about something or other over their pints. It _was_ very quiet, for nine o'clock on a Saturday, but then again this was Feltham, Roger figured. The place could not have been more run-of-the-mill. An old-fashioned, musty affair, ugly carpet flooring and all.

"Fancy a whiskey lemonade? I'll get it." Roger offered. It was what he felt like, anyway.

"Go on then," Freddie shrugged with a small smile and proceeded to tuck himself away at a small round table in the corner.

A short while later, Roger set down two drinks in front of them. 

"Doubles?" 

"Yup."

"Good."

No sooner had they clinked glasses, than Freddie downed a third of his drink.

"So," said Roger, eyeing him carefully. Freddie visibly tensed. 

Roger decided to let it go for the moment and leave the giant elephant in the room untouched. If Freddie didn't want to talk about it, there was precious little he could do to change that. 

"I can't wait for August," he said instead, sipping his own drink. "Feels like it's never gonna happen, at this point." 

"It does, doesn't it?" Freddie smiled, grateful for the change of topic. 

"People still ask me if I'm excited, and honestly, I don't think I am anymore."

"It'll come back, closer to the time..." 

They started chatting about Smile, about the future, about being broke and being famous, and about whether carpets in pubs always had hideous designs to distract from the spilled drink and vomit stains. They quietly gossiped and laughed about the lives they imagined the old regulars sitting at the bar might have lived, especially the bearded man who they decided was a pirate - Roger was pretty sure he was missing an eye - and then they realised that they had finished their drinks too quickly. 

Roger got another round. It was still early, after all. 

It took Freddie almost two whiskey doubles with lemonade, in the end, before he looked up at Roger warily after a few moments of silence. 

"My mum... suspected," he told him, swirling the remainder of his drink. 

"Suspected what?" Roger asked, oblivious. A pleasant haze was starting to cloud his mind, just slightly, just enough to lull him into a state of contentment where everything seemed right with the world. 

Instead of a reply, Freddie tilted his head and looked at him intently, until the penny finally dropped. 

Roger froze mid-sip, eyes widening. 

"Wait, are you serious?" He blinked, incredulous. "But... _how_?"

Freddie shook his head, pulling his lips over his teeth as he scratched at a beer-stained coaster on the table. 

"I don't know. She knows about..." he frowned at the soggy cardboard as it came apart under his nail. "about things that happened, back at school, so, I suppose..."

"Oh." 

As the implications of that information sank in, Roger could feel all the merriness that had come with the drinks dissipate. Granted, he didn't know Freddie's family very well, but given the impression he had, he imagined this was not a good thing by any stretch of the imagination. 

"Shit."

"Yeah," Freddie swallowed, "I didn't think she would, I- I really didn't think-"

"I mean, you barely looked at me all night," Roger murmured, still in disbelief. 

"I _know_." 

"What did she say?" he asked weakly, now replaying the evening in his mind. Every look. Every smile. Holy shit, was it so obvious? He thought of Freddie's mother, standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at him. At _them_.

_Holy shit._

"Let's just say she strongly suspected," Freddie said quietly, pulling out a cigarette and handing one to Roger without asking if he wanted one. Roger did. 

"Fuck, Fred, I don't know what to say. Shit." Roger finished his drink with a few large gulps, trying to suppress the awkward smile which had snuck its way onto his lips. This wasn't a laughing matter, but a part of him didn't know how to react at all. "That's- Christ, I mean-" 

But it didn't make sense. Everything had seemed fine when they left, and Roger was sure it wouldn't have been, _couldn't_ have been, if Freddie's mother had found out about them. 

"Wait," he said resolutely, "I think we're gonna need another couple of drinks for this. And then," he pointed at Freddie with the empty glass in his hand. "you're telling me everything." 

Freddie silently picked up his own glass, finished his drink, and handed it to him without protestations. 

Roger didn't bother with the lemonade this time, and returned with two tumblers of whiskey on ice.

"I hate this stuff neat," Freddie grimaced, and then grimaced some more when he took a small sip. " _Why_."

"It gets better the more you drink," Roger assured him, feeling it burn its way down his throat. It wasn't that he was particularly fond of whiskey, but he'd snuck enough of it from his father's liquor cabinet over the course of his teenage years to be familiar with the taste. And tonight felt like a whiskey sort of night. At least, _now_ it definitely did. 

"Ugh, it's like torture." Freddie wrinkled his nose, drinking it anyway. "Is that the point?"

"Maybe." Roger shrugged, and lit the cigarette Freddie had given him. Then he leaned forward onto the table, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. 

"Wait, so, what- What did you tell her? You didn't _tell_ her, did you?"

Freddie's eyes went wide. 

" _God_ no, of course not, are you insane? Can you _imagine_?" He sucked on his own cigarette nervously and followed it up with another sip of his whiskey. "I told her I had a girlfriend."

Roger propped his head up on his hand, chewing on a nail. 

"And she believed you?"

"Yes... yes, she did." Freddie said slowly, staring into space with a tired, vacant expression, eyebrows slightly raised. "She was delighted. Best news I could've given her."

It wasn't often that Roger was lost for words. But what could he say? He hated how disheartened Freddie looked and he was starting to understand perfectly well now why he'd been so upset earlier, but what could Roger _say_? 

"Shit, Freddie..." 

They finished their cigarettes in pensive silence, sipping their drinks and frowning at the ugly carpet and the grimy table top. Freddie lit another one. Then he leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink around in his glass with a harried look on his face. 

"I have to bring a girl home for dinner now. Sooner or later. If I don't, my mum will know I was lying. And then..."

"She'll know," Roger concluded quietly, frowning at Freddie's predicament. 

The dark-haired man nodded and met his eyes. 

"Roger, what am I going to do?"

Roger opened his mouth and closed it again, considering the options. "Ask someone to pretend..." he started slowly.

"Sit through an entire evening with my family and lie to their faces, and pray that whoever agrees to do it with me doesn't cock it up?" Freddie shook his head, laughing mirthlessly at the idea. "Fuck, I don't know. I thought about that. Maybe I could... but..."

"But what?"

Freddie looked away, chewing his lips.

"Nothing," he took a drag and narrowed his eyes in contemplation as he exhaled. "Maybe I could."

A long silence fell. It didn't feel real, somehow, Roger thought. The entire situation felt ridiculous. As if they were plotting to cover up some horrific crime. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the same anxious sensation he had left behind when he had moved out of his flatshare in Shepherd's Bush. And now it was back in full force. Roger drummed his fingers on the table, catching Freddie's eye.

"What, um... What if your mum... What if she did find out?" he asked quietly.

Freddie crossed one leg over the other and looked at him for a long moment.

"What if _your_ mum found out?" he asked back, bouncing his leg, his agitation palpable. "How would she take it, do you think?"

It wasn't something Roger had ever considered. Not really. There hadn't been any reason to. His parents were far away, they knew close to nothing about his life in London. And even when Freddie had been in Truro with him, things had been different. They'd been more friends than anything else at the time, or so it felt, in hindsight. Friends with benefits. But _now_... 

Roger suddenly realised that he wasn't sure how he'd feel bringing Freddie home to his parents' house now, and at last, he understood why Freddie had dreaded this evening so much.

"I..."

"Would you tell her?" Freddie asked.

"No." Roger replied without missing a beat. Freddie gave him a sad smile.

"Whatever you're imagining, imagine that," he said, "but ten times worse." 

Roger frowned a little, opening his mouth. 

"No," Freddie cut in before he could say anything. "I mean it. _This_..." He lifted up his glass and made a vague gesture, indicating the two of them, together. "This is probably the worst thing I could do to my parents, short of murdering someone."

Roger looked back at him, wanting to laugh. Except it wasn't funny. Freddie downed the rest of his drink, and Roger picked up his glass and got up from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"To get more," he said flatly, and gulped down what remained of his own drink on his way to the bar.

"Well, now I'm broke," Roger announced, returning to the table with two more whiskey doubles on ice. 

"Was that your day's earnings?" Freddie asked, taking the glass from him. 

"Pretty much." 

"I'm sorry." 

Roger shrugged. "Don't be." 

They fit right in now with the rest of the patrons here, he reckoned. Hanging over their drinks with distant, sullen expressions. Waiting for the alcohol to make it all bearable.

"Do you think it's wrong?" Freddie asked after a long, oppressive silence. 

"What?" Roger asked, playing with his pack of cigarettes on the table, considering having another one. 

Freddie rolled his head from one shoulder to the other, his gaze a little unfocused. The alcohol was definitely taking effect. 

"This," he sighed, " _us_." 

Roger paused with his glass halfway to his lips and lowered it, holding Freddie's gaze. 

"Why?" he asked back. "Do you?"

Freddie sipped his whiskey, no longer flinching at the taste. "I asked first."

"No." Roger replied, and wanted to mean it, too. "No, I don't."

But the next question caught him off-guard. 

"Did you think it was wrong half a year ago?" Freddie raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I never thought about it much..." Roger told him honestly.

"Think about it now, dear," Freddie insisted. "Did you think it was wrong, before we met?"

Roger looked at him for a few moments, and then lowered his eyes.

"Okay, yeah," he confessed. "I mean, I guess so."

"So what's changed?"

 _Everything_ , Roger thought, everything had changed. Life before Freddie felt impossibly distant, even though it wasn't. Life without Freddie, without _being with_ Freddie, felt more impossible still.

"I've reconsidered," he said firmly, looking up at his boyfriend with a small smile, a spark of defiant hope in his eyes.

Freddie smiled back at him, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Because it happened to you."

"Yeah," said Roger.

They studied each other for some time in thoughtful, drunken contemplation, searching for answers to questions they could barely put into words.

"But does that make it right?" Freddie mused, his voice light but the look in his eyes dark and brooding "Or does it make us wrong?"

Roger laughed softly, because part of him felt like crying. 

"What're you tryna say?" 

Just at that moment, the doors swung open and a loud group of young lads entered. Roger turned to look at them, momentarily distracted, and then turned back to Freddie, who was suddenly wearing an expression of mild dread on his face. He turned away from the bar, hiding behind his hand. 

"We should go," he muttered, taking a large gulp of his drink. 

"What? Cause of them lot?" Roger nodded toward the lads who had now congregated around the bar. They didn't seem particularly intimidating. Just _annoying_. The sort who would get belligerent when they'd had one too many. 

"Trust me, dear." Freddie rolled his eyes. "They're a bunch of fucking cunts." 

Roger watched them out of the corner of his eye, sipping his drink. There was five of them, most of them around his age or younger. He was sure some of them were probably too young to be served. None of them had taken a look around the pub yet, too preoccupied with getting their drinks. 

"Roggie, please-" Freddie urged him with a hint of genuine desperation. "I just can't, not tonight." 

"Yeah, yeah, alright," Roger swallowed a large mouthful of whiskey and put his glass down, wondering what the story behind this was. The idea of fleeing from a bunch of teenagers didn't sit right with him, but he wasn't going to argue. Not tonight. "Let's go." 

Just as they were about to get up, the gang of youths stepped away from the bar and made their way outside with their drinks. 

Freddie groaned and lowered his face into his hand. Now, Roger realised, they would have to walk right past them on their way out. 

"Hey, it's fine," he nudged Freddie's leg under the table, "They're just a bunch of kids." 

"Yeah," Freddie agreed, half-heartedly, and downed the last bit of whiskey in his glass before he got to his feet. He blinked slowly, looking over at Roger, who was also quite conscious of his own less than sober state. They shared a look and both snorted with laughter. Freddie lay a hand on his arm, steadying himself. 

"Roger, I'm sorry, this is the _worst_ night." 

"Listen, we'll keep drinking," Roger promised him, "and you're not gonna remember any of it." 

"God, I fucking hope so." 

"Come on." 

Taking the lead, Roger made for the door, raising a hand to the barman with a quiet 'cheers, mate', before he stepped outside. It had been one of the first hot days of the year, and even now the air was still balmy. The group of lads was sitting at one of the tables, merrily minding their own business. However, one of them glanced up at the door as it opened and spotted him. And then his eyes fell on Freddie.

"Oi," Roger could hear him say as he elbowed his mate, nodding towards them. "Look." 

As they made their way down between the tables and benches, the whole group fell silent. Roger could practically feel them staring. 

" _Poof_ ," one of them coughed into his fist the moment they passed their table. The rest broke into snickers and wheezing laughter. 

Roger rolled his eyes and bit his tongue, suppressing the urge to flip them off. Freddie was right. They were a bunch of cunts. 

"Got yourself a boyfriend?" Another one of them shouted after them. 

Smooching noises and more snickers followed. Roger felt the muscles in his shoulders tense, anger rising in his chest, but he was going to let it go, he really was. Until-

"Oi, Goldilocks, what's paki cock taste like?"

The group erupted in cries of outrage, disgust and hysterical laughter. 

Freddie lay a hand on his arm, because Roger had stopped dead in his tracks, eyes flashing hot. 

"Rog-" 

"Sorry?" Roger said loudly and turned back over his shoulder, ignoring Freddie, who was subtly but firmly trying to pull him away. "What's that you just said?" 

"Roger, don't-" Freddie groaned, sounding exasperated more than anything, but Roger was already marching back to the table which broke out in ' _oooh_ 's and derisive snorts. 

" _Roger, don't_ ," one of the boys aped in a mocking voice as the gang exchanged looks, watching him approach with hostile curiosity. None of them seemed too bothered at being called out, which wasn't surprising. He was sorely outnumbered, after all. A fact which Roger was technically aware of, but couldn't bring himself to care about at that very moment. If there was a sensible part of him, urging him to think before he made a colossal mistake, the lethal mixture of anger and whiskey was drowning it out. 

"D'you wanna say that one more time?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at them as he stopped beside their table, his voice tightly controlled and dangerously calm. 

"Yeh," one of them said, giving him a once-over. He was a ginger lad with a face full of freckles, and Roger wanted to laugh, because this fucking _child_ didn't look a day over seventeen.

"I said, wha' does filthy paki cock taste like, innit," he said with a shit eating grin, and his friends whooped.

Roger stared at him, unblinking, as he briefly envisioned grabbing a fistful of his hair and smashing his face into the table a few times over. 

"Yeah, see..." he nodded slowly, flexing his fingers. "I thought that's what you said."

And with that, he snatched the nearest pint off the table with surprising agility for someone who was nowhere near sober, and dumped its contents over the boy's head. 

There was a split second of complete, stunned silence. Even Roger was shocked as the implications of what he had just done began to sink in. 

"Oh _shit_!" Freddie gasped behind him, his voice decidedly amused, if panicked. And then, all hell broke loose. 

The ginger lad jumped to his feet even as Roger dropped the glass, turning to Freddie, who was gaping at him wide-eyed. 

" _Run!_ " Roger yelled, and immediately took his own advice, seizing Freddie's hand on the way past.

"YOU'RE FUCKIN' _DEAD_ , BITCH!"

The beer-soaked lad was the first to give chase and his mates followed suit amidst curses and cries of ' _Get 'em, get 'em_!'. 

Still hand in hand, Roger and Freddie sprinted down the road without looking back, the footfall of the gang in pursuit close on their heels.

As they rounded the street corner, the station came into view. Although what good was that? Roger wondered. Once they reached the platform, they would be trapped. 

Only there was nowhere else to go. The road was a dead end. 

'Shit,' he thought, almost falling over his own feet, 'that's it, we're fucked.' They were headed straight for a punch-up with a bunch of teenage louts and it was his fault. Freddie was going to kill him if they didn't. 

They ran into the station, tore through the open ticket barriers and sprinted up the stairs. Roger prayed that, by some miracle, their train would be pulling into the station at this very moment.

It didn't.

He could barely feel his legs as they ran out onto the platform and finally stumbled to a halt, gasping for air, out of breath and out of options. 

" _Fuck_ ," Freddie breathed, shooting him a dark, dismayed look.

"I know," Roger mumbled apologetically, meeting his eyes as they turned to face the gang of youths who had just reached the top of the stairs. 

Oh, Jesus. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangerrrr... I'm sorry! *hides*
> 
> Please talk to me, it's honestly what keeps inspiring me to work on this epic.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst night, continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not embarrassed to admit that Lily Allen's "Friday Night" was my jam for the first part of this.
> 
> _Don't try and test me cause you'll get a reaction_  
>  _Another drink and I'm ready for action_  
>  _I don't know who you think you are_  
>  _But making people scared won't get you very far_
> 
> A big thank you to my beta reader, JM Laurence!
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy...

\- - - 

It was almost comical, Roger thought, taking a few steps back as the gang advanced on them slowly, equally winded from the chase. None of them were in any shape to throw a punch just yet. All they could do was stare each other down and assess the situation.

"Gotcha," his new ginger friend with the beer-stained clothes muttered and spat on the floor, flexing his shoulders. Beside him, one of the other lads cracked his knuckles. 

Roger took a quick glance around. Their platform was completely deserted, they had probably just missed a train, and the small handful of people on the other platform were all doing a very good job of watching events unfold while pretending not to notice anything at all. 

"Alright, clue me in," Freddie suddenly spoke up, still breathless but with an air of defiant bravado. Except Roger, who knew him well, recognised the fear in the high pitch of his voice. 

"What's the idea?" Freddie put one hand on his hip and brushed his hair out of his face, his show of nonchalance almost convincing, had he not just spent the last few minutes running away. "Are we going to throw punches until someone falls on the tracks or the police turn up?" 

"You think a copper's gonna help _you_ ," the heavyset pig-nosed bloke beside Ginger sneered, looking Freddie over with outright disgust. "They don' want your lot 'ere no more than we do!"

"Bloody right!" 

"Piss off back home, paki!" 

"Fuckin' brown bastard-" 

"Let's send 'im packin'!" 

The sheer, unapologetic vitriol as they almost fell over each other in their eagerness to heap insults on Freddie made Roger's blood boil. Freddie hadn't even fucking _done_ anything! The fact that Freddie's mere existence provoked such hatred shocked him even though he'd heard his fair share of comments along the same lines plenty of times. Only, never before had they been directed at someone he cared about. And _Freddie_ , of all people. Soft-spoken Freddie, with his shy smile and kind, intelligent eyes, who stood there stoney-faced, barely flinching. Because he was used to this, Roger thought, appalled and saddened and _absolutely furious_ on his behalf.  
It was at that moment when Roger realised that he no longer cared what happened to him tonight. All he knew was that he was willing to break a few faces, given half a chance, the second any of them lay their hands on Freddie. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, a dangerous mix of adrenaline and alcohol pumping through his veins. 

"It's you who should fuck off home," he scoffed, stepping in front of Freddie and fixing Ginger at the front with a stone cold glare. "Oi, ginge, does your mum know you're out well past your bedtime? Or is she too busy shagging the neighbours to care?" 

The look on Ginger's face and the fleeting sense of victory were worth it. It wasn't as if he could make things any worse, Roger figured. He was most likely going to get the crap beaten out of him and there was no way around it. Might as well go in guns blazing. 

"Wot did you say, you fuckin' piece o' shite!?" 

A recorded announcement crackled over the speakers, barely registering at the back of Roger's mind. 

"You heard me!" he spat.

" _The train now approaching platform 2 does not stop at this station. Please stand back from the edge of the platform._ "

"Reggie!" One of the blokes exclaimed, a bit late to the joke. "He just called yer mam a slag, innit!" 

"Reggie?" Roger guffawed. "Your name's _Reginald_?" 

It was the last thing he managed to say. The gang pounced, Ginger in the lead. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Without thinking, Roger threw one arm out in front of Freddie and the other up in front of his face, not quite managing to block a clout to the side of his head which made his ear ring. He swung his hand out blindly, whacking one of them in the throat. A punch in the gut made him double over and already there were too many hands on him, trying to tear him to the ground. 

" _Roger_!" 

Someone grabbed on to his arm, yanking him sideways and out of their reach so forcefully he lost his balance. In the second it took him to realise that it was Freddie, Roger found himself stumbling over the yellow line and to the very edge of the platform. 

"Come on!" Freddie yelled even as he leaped off the platform and onto the tracks, pulling him along. 

Roger tumbled over the edge after him, just barely managing not to land flat on his face. He scrambled to his feet with Freddie's help and they took off running to the other side, the ground vibrating beneath them. In a split second, Roger realised that the bright lights of a speeding train were approaching in the distance and his breath caught in his throat.  
Everything was a blur. 

"Shit!" 

He threw a look back over his shoulder. Most of the lads were still standing at the edge of the platform, looking back and forth between them and the oncoming train, unable to decide what to do. But Reggie and his pig-nosed mate had already jumped down after them. When Roger turned back around Freddie was pulling himself up onto the opposite platform. He spun around the moment he was on his feet, stretching out his hand to him.  
Roger took it, but the moment he had climbed up, he was tackled to the ground from behind. And then one of them was on top of him, gripping a fistful of his hair, a knee jammed into his back. As his head was pulled up roughly he caught sight of Reggie beside him, a feral scowl on his face, swinging his leg back for a kick. 

"Get _off_ him!" Freddie's voice, broken, desperate and enraged. 

Roger threw an arm up and squeezed his eyes shut even as his head was slammed into the ground, but the kick never came. Instead there was the sound of a scuffle, a thud and a pained grunt. The grip on his hair weakened, the bloke on top of him momentarily distracted. Roger instinctively took advantage and furiously tried to throw him off, half succeeding. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of Reggie, stumbling backward to the edge of the platform, a hand over his nose. And then, the young lad took one fatal step too far, lost his balance and fell. 

There was a number of outcries and gasps, drowned out by the shriek of the train whistle. The speeding train had almost reached the station. 

The bystanders, the blokes on the other side, Roger and Reggie's mate who was holding him down, everyone froze, powerless and aghast. 

Except for Freddie, who had run up to where the boy had fallen, hands on his head as he looked on, horrified. 

Freddie moved. 

Before Roger could process what was happening, Freddie jumped and disappeared over the edge of the platform. 

Roger felt his heart stop and his blood ran cold. In one swift movement, he elbowed himself free. The bloke on top of him barely resisted, equally in shock. Roger scrambled to his feet just as the train barrelled through, a gust of wind hitting him in the face. 

He wanted to scream and couldn't, all the air seemed to have been sucked out of his lungs. The deafening sound of the train speeding past rang in his ears, his mind frantically spiralling into the worst possible scenario.

' _He's dead. Oh Christ, he's dead. Please, dear God, no, please no, please no, please no, **please no** -_' 

The train seemed to be _impossibly_ long, terrifying seconds dragging like minutes. 

When the last carriage had finally sped past, it took him a moment to process the sight in front of him. Lying on the side of the tracks, just out of harm's way, was Reggie, with Freddie half on top of him. Both wide-eyed and pale as a sheet. 

Roger raised his hands to his mouth, drawing a shaky breath, the wave of relief washing over him so intense it brought tears to his eyes. 

And then, the strangest scene unfolded. 

In a few unsteady movements, Freddie stood up, brushed off his palms on his trousers, and silently extended a hand to the younger boy. Reggie, half of his face smeared with blood from his nose, black against his freckled skin in the sickly yellow light of the station, took it. Freddie pulled him to his feet and for a second or two, they stood staring at each other, even as a cacophony of voices swept across the platforms. The bystanders who had come running were shouting at them to get off the rails, Reggie's friends were calling to him. Reactions ranged from outrage to hysterical disbelief to cheering. Roger, too, finally regained command of his voice. 

"Freddie- holy shit- _FREDDIE_!"

The two boys separated and staggered off in opposite directions. Roger pulled Freddie up onto the platform as soon as he was within reach, wrapping him in a desperately tight embrace. The handful of people who had been on the platform crowded around them, meaning well, but their words barely made sense and Roger just wanted them all to go away. 

'Goodness- Are you alright? Are you okay? Are you sure? Good god- Police- Call the police-' 

"No!" Freddie looked up, eyes like a frightened, cornered animal as he clung on to him, half-dazed and half-terrified. "No- I'm fine, please-" 

"It's okay, we, uh- we have to go- this- this isn't our platform," Roger muttered lamely, throwing a glance across to the other side which was now completely deserted. The gang must have taken off. The bloke who had tackled him earlier was also gone, he realised belatedly. 'Not so fucking tough _now_ ', he thought, gritting his teeth in anger. A middle-aged woman with a concerned frown got into his face even as he tried to guide Freddie away from the small gaggle of people. 

"Are you sure you're alright, love?" she asked Freddie, and turned to Roger, not waiting for an answer. "Do you know where he lives? You should make sure he gets home safe."

"I _will_ ," Roger snapped, irritated. 'If you'll let me, you daft cow,' he very nearly added out loud. 

Freddie was shaking like a leaf, one hand closed around a fistful of Roger's shirt so tightly his knuckles were white. 

"I'm gonna be sick," he mumbled in a tense voice as they finally escaped to the stairs. 

They barely made it to the bottom of the first flight before Freddie tore away from him and flung himself against the wall for support, doubling over. Roger lay a hand on his back, rubbing small circles as Freddie retched up cheap whiskey and bile. His own stomach wasn't feeling great. They had downed those drinks so quickly the full effect was only just starting to hit him now. And the adrenaline rush wasn't helping. Roger was bathed in cold sweat and shivering, his head swimming. That pig-nosed fucker had slammed his face into the concrete pretty hard and he was just starting to become aware of the pain. He lifted a hand and flinched when he pressed his fingers against his cheek bone. 

"Sorry," Freddie rasped, coughing, and wiped his face on his sleeve as he slowly came up, still leaning on the wall. 

"Better?" 

"Not really," Freddie whispered weakly. Roger wrapped an arm around his shoulders and walked him across the landing and toward the stairs leading to their platform. It was a true case of the blind leading the blind, as both of them were barely keeping themselves upright. 

They dragged themselves up the stairs and slowly walked to the very end of the platform before they collapsed onto a bench, still clinging on to each other. Hands still trembling. A train pulled into the opposite platform and left it empty, much to Roger's relief. He really didn't fancy being stared at anymore. 

"I almost killed him," Freddie uttered. "Oh god, I almost killed him, Roger. I almost killed someone, I almost _killed_ someone-"

It took Roger a second or two to understand, because that thought couldn't have been further from his mind. 

"No! Fuck that little tosser!" he turned to Freddie, incredulous, instinctively reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly. "You almost fucking _died_ , Jesus, Freddie- You saved- You literally _saved his life_!" 

Freddie frowned and shook his head. "It was my fault..." 

"No. No! Shut up, don't you fucking _dare_." Roger wasn't having any of this. "Don't you _dare_ say that. If it's anyone's fault it's mine, _I_ started it. If it weren't for me none of this would'a happened." The realisation sank in as he was saying the words. "Shit, Freddie, I'm sorry. Christ, this's all my fault, I'm so fucking _sorry_ -"

A part of him knew it was the alcohol, exacerbating every emotion, but suddenly he felt on the verge of tears. 

"Are you _okay_?" He reached for Freddie's other hand and Freddie grimaced with a hiss, pulling it away. 

"Sorry," Roger paused, glancing down at his bruised knuckles. "Fuck, you could've died... Jesus Christ." It didn't feel like 'I'm sorry' could cut it and he didn't know what else to say. 

'I was so scared. I'm _still_ scared. I honestly thought you were gone for a moment, and I couldn't cope.' 

"I'm okay." 

Freddie finally properly looked at him, torn out of his own emotional haze by Roger's distress. He lifted a hand to his face, meeting his eyes. "Rog, I'm _okay_. Are _you_ okay?" 

Freddie's fingers ghosted over his bruised forehead and cheek. 

"Yeah," Roger nodded, and swallowed. "Thanks to you." He threw his arms around Freddie and buried his face in his hair, not sure whether he was crying or laughing anymore. It felt utterly bizarre and wrong to laugh, but he couldn't help it, all of a sudden. "Jesus, you punched him right in the face, didn't you! Fucking wish I'd seen it." 

Freddie snorted, hugging him back.

"My hand hurts," he moaned, but he was also laughing now, giddy from the adrenaline and the overwhelming mix of emotions. 

The journey back to Kensington was a haze, and later, Roger would barely be able to remember just how they got home that night. 

It wasn't until the train ride that the alcohol really caught up with him. His head spun, they were both rambling, recounting the events of the night over and over in a state of complete disbelief. 

Nothing felt real. 

Only Freddie, Freddie felt real, his head lolling on Roger's shoulder, and then again he would lean away from him and against the dark window, arms wrapped around himself tightly and chewing on his nails. But never for long, before his eyes returned to Roger, wide and intense, fingers tugging at Roger's shirt and playing with Roger's leather bracelet as though he too was trying to assure himself through every minute detail that this was reality.  
They cycled through amazement, shell-shocked silence and euphoria.  
Roger remembered laughing, and holding his head in his hands, and touching Freddie far too much, and far too affectionately. 

It was close to midnight when they stumbled in through the front door of their building, relieved and exhausted. 

"Ugh," Freddie groaned, "the _stairs_! Roger, I can't do it. I simply can't! Carry me!" 

"Come on," Roger laughed, grabbing him by the hand. Freddie yelped. 

"Ow! Wrong hand, WRONG HAND!" 

"Shit, sorry!" 

They stumbled up the first flight, wheezing with laughter. Roger was pretty sure that in an obvious case of folie à deux, they had both lost their minds at some point tonight. He took Freddie's other hand, dragging him up the second flight, and fell back against the wall at the top, pulling him into his arms. 

"That's one floor done." 

Freddie wrapped his arms around him amidst chuckles and went quiet, leaning into him, pressing his forehead to the side of his face. 

"Run away with me," he said, out of nowhere, sounding almost entirely serious. 

Roger chuckled. "Okay."

Freddie laughed out loud and leaned back, looking at him. "Okay?" he raised his eyebrows. "Just like that?" 

Roger grinned, lifting a hand to his face. 

"Just like that." 

Freddie turned into the touch, eyelids drooping. 

"Where would we go?" Roger asked, caressing his temple, his cheek. Freddie smiled, thinking about it. 

" _Everywhere_ ," he concluded, and hummed quietly, content with the idea. "We'll never stop." 

"Freddie." 

"Hm?" 

Dark eyes met his, gazing up at him through thick lashes. Roger's fingers trailed down, cupping his jaw.

"I can't imagine my life without you," he said, simply and honestly, and felt the weight of his words as they left his mouth. They felt too _heavy_ , and Roger smiled and tried to lighten the tone, tried to turn it into a bit of a joke: "So you're not allowed to die, alright? _Ever._ "

"Duly noted, darling." Freddie grinned, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up. "My _god_ , I want to kiss you, but my mouth tastes like shit." 

Roger snorted with laughter, leaning in. "I don't give a fuck, come here." 

"No!" Freddie protested, leaning away from him until he almost fell over backward, both of them in fits of giggles, "Nonono, get off!" 

The sound of the door across from them creaking open startled them and they quickly released each other, turning to stare at the shadowy figure of an elderly woman, peering back at them through a crack. There was a chain lock on the inside, preventing her from opening the door any further. 

"Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?" she grouched.

Roger and Freddie exchanged a look, trying very hard not to laugh as they attempted to look repentant. 

"We're so sorry," Freddie muttered solemnly. 

"Terribly sorry," Roger added, "We were just, um, on our way up. Sorry." 

There was an affronted huff and the door slammed shut. 

"Uh oh!" 

"Shhh!" 

" _You_ shhh!" 

Snickering and shushing each other, they continued their way up the stairs. 

\- - - 

_Sore_ had never been so apt a word to describe his state of being, Freddie thought, when he finally decided to drag himself out of bed at half past ten on Sunday. His head was sore, aching from a hangover he didn't feel he deserved, considering that surely most of it had come back up last night. 

Apparently not. 

Every muscle in his body felt sore and overexerted, from his shoulders to his legs. The knuckles on his left hand were sore, which confused him for a moment until he remembered why. 

Right. Of course. _That_ had happened. 

He sat up and instinctively glanced around the room, even though he was already aware that Roger wasn't home. Freddie had a vague recollection of him slipping out of bed and pottering around earlier, only he hadn't been awake enough at the time to so much as crack an eye open. It was frankly surprising that Roger had managed to leave the house, knowing that he couldn't have possibly felt much better than Freddie.  
However, there was the very real threat of not being able to pay rent to consider. 

They hadn't discussed it, but what with desperately trying to finish his course work on time, Freddie had abandoned their stall for the moment. Unfortunately, his savings were also almost depleted and so it had fallen to Roger, for the most part, to ensure they would still have a roof over their heads at the end of this month while Freddie tried to at least keep the fridge stocked. It was understood, Freddie thought, that he would have done the exact same thing had their roles been reversed, and Roger hadn't voiced a single complaint about this arrangement, but day to day Freddie was torn between feeling extremely grateful and extremely guilty about it. Roger's birthday was also coming up in a month and he didn't even know how and if he would be able to scrape together enough money for a present that wasn't a pointless piece of tack.

However, he would have to shelve those concerns until next weekend, because five days was all he had before his dissertation was due. 

Five days. Fuck. 

With a stretch and a groan, Freddie got up to put the kettle on, trying to mentally prepare himself for the task at hand. It was a struggle. It felt so incredibly mundane, after the insane chain of events of the previous night.

He wanted to curl up under the skylight with his mug and sit and think until music started flowing through his mind, and he wanted to find words to accompany it and pen it all down, spend too long searching for a chord on the guitar, forget the time, forget to eat and just _be_.

But if he allowed himself to so much as entertain the idea, the whole day would go by and he would have nothing to show for it. So it was best not to think about it at all. 

Only when he started looking for his tea mug did Freddie find a note on the counter, tucked under the mug. He picked it up and read it while he waited for the water to boil. 

__

_Morning!_

__

_Gone to work. I feel rotten,_

__

_hope you don't. Will give Tim & Bri a ring. _

__

_Probably going to the pub later._

__

_Meet there?_

__

_Rog x_

__

_PS: You're a hero. Love you madly._

Freddie smiled fondly at the note, rereading the last part over and over.

_You're a hero. Love you madly._  
_Love you madly._  
_Love you madly._  
_Love you-_

The water boiled. Freddie carefully folded the note and proceeded to make himself a cup of tea.

In the end, concentration eluded him for the majority of the day regardless. 

When he approached the Kensington that afternoon, Freddie spotted Roger and Brian from across the road, sitting on one of the large window sills of the pub, enjoying the orange glow of the late afternoon sun. They didn't noticed him approach, engaged in conversation. As he walked up to them, Freddie overheard what they were saying. 

"...basically just insulted his mum to his face!"

"Are you serious?" Brian raised his eyebrows, grinning at Roger over his pint.

"Completely serious."

"Roger, _why_ -" 

"Is Blondie here telling you all about how he nearly got us killed last night?" Freddie interrupted, coming to a stop in front of them. 

"Hey Freddie!" Brian looked up, smiling at him, but Roger's expression darkened a little, his bright blue eyes suddenly uncertain and guilty. 

"Hey..." 

Freddie touched his knee, fingertips brushing over a patch of skin where the material had torn and split. A minute caress. 

"I'm joking, dear," he said softly and Roger relaxed into a wide smile, which Freddie couldn't help but return, much as he tried to hide his overbite. But then his eyes were drawn to the bruises decorating one side of Roger's face.

"Oh, god," he muttered, lifting his hand up to touch him gently, quite without thinking. "It looks bad today."

His fingers trailed from Roger's forehead down to his cheek. The smile didn't leave the fair-haired man's face. 

"It's fine."

Realising what he was doing, right in front of Brian, Freddie pulled his hand back as though he had been burned. 

"Sorry," he murmured, suddenly not sure where to look. 

"...It's fine," Roger repeated, a little quieter. 

"So it's all true?" Brian asked, meeting Freddie's eyes when he looked back up.

"Last night? Oh, every word, dear!" Freddie informed him, playfully dramatic in his delivery, even though his smile remained a little wary as he tried - and failed - to remember if he would ever have touched Roger like that back when they were just friends. Either way, if Brian had thought it strange he didn't let on. 

"Although it's Roger who's telling it, so on second thought, who knows?" he added. 

"Oi!" Roger nudged him with his foot. "Cheeky." 

Freddie looked around. "We seem to be missing Tim?" 

"Girlfriend," Roger rolled his eyes. "They've got _plans_ , don't you know." 

"Sorry, is anyone going to finish this story?" Brian interjected. "I'm on the edge of my seat here." 

Roger snorted, raising an eyebrow at the way Brian was leisurely reclining against the side of the window. "Clearly." 

"This is my riveted face," Brian assured him. 

"Well, long story short," Freddie gestured with an unlit cigarette, which he had just pulled out. "Roger thought it was a splendid idea to piss off a bunch of Feltham's finest..."

"In my defence," Roger held up his hands, "I _was_ drunk." 

Freddie clucked his tongue, lighting his cigarette. "Did he mention there was five of them?"

"He did." 

" _Five_." Freddie said emphatically. 

"I mean, they were asking for it," Roger pointed out with a sheepish grin, sipping his beer.

Freddie shrugged, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I can't argue with that." 

"Wait, what did they even say to you?" Brian wanted to know. 

Roger caught Freddie's eye briefly and Freddie gave a tiny shake of his head. 

"Nothing worth repeating," Roger replied and nabbed Freddie's cigarette right out of his hand, also taking a drag. "So, anyway, there we are on the platform, right? And at this point I'm thinking, fuck, we're gonna get our teeth kicked in."

"Which is why he decided to rile them up some more, as you do," Freddie couldn't help but add in, stealing his cigarette back. Roger narrowed his eyes at him slightly. 

"Aren't you gonna go get a drink?" 

Freddie balked at the mere suggestion. "Dearie me, no! I'm still recovering from last night." 

"Lightweight," Roger teased, sticking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth. 

Freddie quirked an eyebrow, giving the beer in his hand a pointed look. 

"Lush." 

Roger took a large gulp and smacked his lips. 

"Fair." 

"Still waiting to hear by what miracle you got away," Brian said as he pulled one long leg up onto the window sill, making himself more comfortable. 

With a definite hint of pride, Roger nodded in Freddie's direction. 

"You're looking at him."

Freddie pulled his top lip over his teeth, smiling down at his feet, while Roger proceeded to tell the whole story. 

By the time he had finished, Brian's eyes were wide and incredulous as he looked back and forth between them, a hand clapped over his mouth. 

"Oh my god..." he said slowly, lowering his hand. 

"Yeah," Roger agreed. 

Brian was staring at Freddie, who gave an embarrassed little shrug. The way Roger told it made him sound overly heroic, he thought, and he was about to point it out, too. But before he could, Brian placed his glass on the windowsill, got up and wrapped him into a big hug. 

"Oh," Freddie's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he awkwardly patted Brian on the back, not sure how to react, for a moment. 

"I'm really glad you're alright," Brian said, his tone so genuine that it touched Freddie deeply. He hugged him back properly then, suddenly keenly aware of how shaken up he still felt after last night, underneath all the jokes. All the attempts to make light of the events. 

_You think God won't punish you?_

_Get 'em!_

_Fuckin' brown bastard-_

_Roger!_

_...killed him, I almost killed him..._

Freddie screwed his eyes shut. There was an unexpected lump in his throat the size of a cricket ball. He felt Roger come up beside him, a hand on his lower back. 

"Come here, you nutter," Brian said affectionately and pulled Roger into the hug with one arm. Freddie slid an arm around both of them, breathing Roger's familiar scent and Brian's cologne, his face half-buried in the tall man's bushy mane of hair which he'd so evidently and desperately tried to straighten today. They stood like this for a few long moments. And no, Freddie thought, he wasn't okay. But he _was_ , because the warmth blooming in his chest eradicated the fear and the pain. He was _safe_.

"Alright, enough, you drama queens," Freddie chuckled self-consciously, dabbing his eyes with a little sniff as soon as he pulled away. "People are staring." 

They stood shuffling their feet for a little while. Roger lit a cigarette and Brian ruffled his hair. 

"Maybe I will get a drink..." Freddie sighed, making Roger laugh victoriously. 

"You're a terrible influence, Taylor." Brian chided. 

"Don't I know it!" Roger picked up his glass and gulped down the rest of his drink, looking over at Freddie. "I'll get it. What do you want?" 

"Are you sure, dear?" 

"Yeah. Bri?" 

"Another one, thanks."

"Fred?" 

"The usual," Freddie gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, dear." 

"One pint, one port and lemonade, coming up." Roger said cheerfully and climbed in through the window, making his way to the bar. 

Brian sat back down and Freddie joined him, fiddling with his shirt sleeves as they sat in silence for a moment or two. 

"So, how are you?" Brian asked, sipping what was left of his beer. "Crazy adventures aside."

"Oh, fine. You know."

"How's the dissertation going?" 

Freddie chuckled. "God... it's going. What about you?" 

"Yeah, good." Brian nodded. "Couple more exams coming up and that's it. Any plans for the summer?" 

Freddie raised his eyebrows. "Hmm... finding work? Proving to my parents that I'm not a complete failure?" 

He laughed off the truth of the latter statement, watching the lively street, aware of Brian's gaze on him.

"We should hang out," Brian said, after a moment, a warm smile on his lips, "Once all the stress is over." 

Freddie turned to look at him. It was true. In his early attempts to join Smile, he had hung out with Brian a fair few times, listening to records, talking music and actually having a pretty good time. But Brian was not as easy to read as Roger, who wore his heart on his sleeve, and Freddie hadn't been quite sure if he had genuinely struck up a friendship with the tall guitarist, his perhaps a little obvious attempts to find a way into the band aside. 

"I'd like that," he replied, and returned the smile, "I'll hold you to it, dear."

Roger returned with their drinks after a few more minutes and they squeezed onto the wide window sill together. Brian in the middle and Roger and Freddie on either side. Sharing cigarettes, banter and chatting away while they watched the sun disappear behind the tall buildings.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing action isn't my forté, so believe me when I say I _really tried_. I hope you enjoyed the read.
> 
> Comments, as always, very much appreciated.
> 
> EDIT: I also recommend listening to Lily Allen's "Fuck You". It's on topic and will make you feel good. Trust me.  
> EDIT 2: I did the thing and started a tumblr dedicated to this fic, haha. Follow it! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/a-froger-epic


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back with a much more relaxed chapter that might make you think a bit.
> 
> I MADE A TUMBLR! 
> 
> I am so excited, go check it out! There's some [funny shit.](https://a-froger-epic.tumblr.com/post/187757952017/sometimes-when-im-writing-my-froger-fic-on-the)
> 
> And [shitty fanart (by yours truly). ](https://a-froger-epic.tumblr.com/post/187764010607/sooo-is-this-the-right-time-to-tell-you-all-that-I)
> 
> And even [a mood board, holy wow.](https://a-froger-epic.tumblr.com/post/187692712022/i-made-a-mood-board-for-dawn-of-aquarius)
> 
> And honestly, I'm enjoying myself running my own fan account, what can I say?
> 
> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta JMLaurence!

\- - - 

"Hah!" Roger exclaimed, startling the hell out of Freddie, who was sitting on his bed half-asleep with a bowl of cereal in his lap. 

"God, Roger," Freddie cast him a grumpy look. "What?" 

"This Friday is the 13th," Roger informed him casually from his own bed, leafing through his diary. 

Freddie rolled his eyes. 

"I _know_. My dissertation is due on Friday the 13th. Which is just _perfect_ , if you ask me," he grumbled sarcastically, turning back to his cereal. "Just perfect." 

"You're not superstitious, are you?" Roger scribbled something down in his diary and tucked it away into his bag as he spoke. "I mean, it's a load of old shite, that. It being unlucky and all." 

"So why bring it up then?" Freddie asked tetchily. 

There was a brief pause. Out of the corner of his eye, Freddie could see Roger _looking_ at him for a few long moments. Freddie continued to frown into his cereal. 

Roger rose from his bed and wandered over to him. A hand grazed his shoulder, fingers slipping past the collar of his t-shirt at the nape of his neck, stroking up and down his spine just below his hairline. 

"What's wrong?" 

Freddie sighed, a part of him wanting to relax into the touch, and another part too on edge to enjoy it. 

"Nothing. I slept like shit, darling, that's all." 

"Sorry," Roger said quietly, lowering himself onto the bed beside him. "Was I snoring?" he asked with a small grin, leaning down to kiss Freddie's shoulder through his shirt. 

"No," Freddie shrugged him off and straightened a little. "Just- Bad dreams." 

"Okay."

Taking the hint, Roger pulled his hand away. Freddie immediately found himself wishing he hadn't, even though he was the one giving him the cold shoulder. This only made him feel more annoyed. What was wrong with him, anyway? 

The pressure was getting to him, that was what. He couldn't stop thinking about college, about his parents, about his future. About the fact that he was broke and turning twenty-three in a few months, and fuck, he really had imagined that he would have _made something_ of himself by now. 

The fact that he had slept fitfully, reliving the night at the train station in a bizarre, altered dream reality, didn't help. 

"What did you dream?" Roger asked, still hovering close to his shoulder, almost touching him, but not quite. 

Freddie shook his head. "It doesn't matter... It's not just that, it's everything, I can't- I've got a lot on my mind, is all." 

"Hmm..." 

Roger's breath tickled the crook of his neck as the younger man leaned in closer, brushing his hair away. Freddie leaned his head to the side, not entirely sure whether he was trying to pull away or expose his neck when Roger's lips brushed his skin. Tenderly, cautiously. 

"Can I help take your mind off things for a bit?" he murmured close to his ear. 

"Rog..." Freddie started, meaning to protest. He wasn't in the mood. He was too tired, too distracted, too anxious. 

Right now wasn't the time. 

Only, his body had obviously not received that memo. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as Roger left a trail of kisses along the side of his neck. Freddie's heartbeat quickened. Encouraged by his obvious lack of resistance, a hand slid around to his front and underneath his shirt, fingers stroking his abdomen.  
It felt good. It felt _nice_. Freddie sighed and could feel Roger smile against his neck.  
Smug bastard.

Quite boldly and suddenly, Roger's hand slipped past the waistband of Freddie's pyjama trousers and wrapped around his semi-erect cock. 

Freddie gave a small, breathy moan, eyes falling shut. Still awkwardly holding the bowl of cereal. 

Well. He'd lost that fight quick. 

It was a talent, really, Freddie thought. Roger had a way about him, an uncanny knack for seduction, so effortless and natural that it was near impossible not to give in to him.  
Roger hummed, lavishing his neck with kisses, holding his hand perfectly still as he simply seemed to take pleasure in feeling Freddie get hard for him. And then his fingers slowly moved up to the head, squeezing tighter. Freddie bit his lip, stifling a moan, and involuntarily thrust his hips up into the touch. A tiny movement, but obvious enough. Roger licked a stripe up to his ear, his own breathing decidedly faster than it had been a minute ago, and began to work his hand up and down the length of Freddie's cock. 

"Darling..." Freddie uttered, his voice a little hoarse. He wanted to point out that he was going to spill soggy cereal on himself and the bed shortly unless Roger let him put the bowl down first. But he couldn't quite form the words because all his mind provided him with was _oh, yes, please_ and _don't stop_. 

"You're so hot," Roger breathed, lewdly licking into Freddie's ear, making him whimper. "Wish we could do this all day." 

Roger's other hand reached around him, fingers splaying over his chest and finding a hard nipple to tease through his shirt.  
Already there was barely a thought left on Freddie's mind, other than how to dispose of this bloody cereal bowl without interrupting the wonderful things Roger was doing to him.

As though he had read his mind, Roger suddenly released him and took the bowl right out of his hand, reaching behind himself to place it on the night stand. Then he rounded Freddie in one quick move, plopping down on the bed in front of him.  
Their lips found each other almost immediately, melting into a deep, ravenous kiss. Roger's hands were on him again in moments, pulling the elastic of his trousers down, resuming where he had left off. Freddie reached for him, slipping his hands under Roger's shirt, caressing the smooth, slender body he knew and loved so well.  
Roger broke the kiss and pulled his shirt off, taking the opportunity to relieve Freddie of his shirt as well. 

"Um," Freddie swallowed, lost in a haze of pleasure, Roger's mouth on his neck, meaning business this time. Alternating between sucking hard enough to leave marks and biting. Fingers honing in on a nipple and pinching it lightly while the hand around Freddie's cock increased its pace. "I don't, ah-have a lot of time," Freddie managed between whimpers, all the while sliding a hand into Roger's pyjama shorts, making him moan in turn. 

"I know," Roger rasped against his neck, shifting closer to him, lips moving up to his ear, "Just lemme take care of you, yeah? There'll be time soon," he whispered, pausing to nibble on his earlobe, "and then I'm gonna, mmh- I'm gonna have you all to myself. Gonna take my time and, ahh- lick you _everywhere_." 

The sound Freddie made in response was embarrassingly needy, hips bucking up into Roger's hand. Prickling heat coiled deep inside him. Taking too long was not going to be an issue, he realised. 

"And then..." Roger continued in a low whisper. "I'm gonna make you come so hard you- nghh-" Freddie's hand had tightened around his dick, matching his rhythm. He never finished the sentence, capturing Freddie's lips in a messy, passionate kiss instead.

"Yeah?" Freddie murmured breathlessly against his lips when they broke apart. His cheeks were burning but the dark twinkle in his eyes screamed ' _tell me more_ '. Roger fixed him with a sultry gaze, a smirk on his lips. 

"Yeah..." He pinched Freddie's nipple hard, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. The exquisite pain mingled with pleasure was pushing Freddie closer to the edge fast. The fair-haired man leaned in, lapping at his earlobe, and Freddie shuddered. 

"Gonna fuck you so good," Roger's lips were against his ear, scandalous, downright _filthy_ words meant for him and him alone. "Make you come on my dick..." 

"Oh my _god_ -" Freddie moaned and threw an arm up around Roger's shoulders, steadying himself as his head fell back, eyes squeezed shut. His trembling fingers around Roger's cock were losing their rhythm while Roger pumped him steadily and quickly toward orgasm.

"Oh god, yes! Oh _fuck_ -" 

"Come on, baby-" 

Freddie whined with a mixture of delight and desperation, so close to the edge he could barely breathe and too far gone to stop and question the fact that Roger had apparently just called him _baby_. His head snapped back up and their lips crashed together. Roger thrust his tongue into his mouth hungrily, muffling his loud, breathless moans as Freddie came all over himself and Roger's hand. 

Chest heaving and whimpering with the aftershocks, Freddie broke the kiss and leaned his head against Roger's temple. 

"Oh my word..." 

"See?" Roger grinned, nuzzling against him, "That was quick."

"Yes, it was..." Freddie admitted with a slightly abashed little smile, pressing soft kisses to Roger's cheek and lips. They reached for the roll of toilet paper on the night stand simultaneously, accidentally knocking it off in the process. 

"Fuck," Freddie laughed, still breathless. 

Roger chuckled and got up off the bed, retrieving it from the floor and handing some to Freddie before he wiped his own hand clean. 

"Now, off you pop," Roger said with an affectionate wink, "Go shower. Wouldn't want you to be late." 

"But-" 

Freddie kicked off his pyjama trousers onto the floor and tossed a crumpled wad of tissue paper in the general direction of the bin.

" _You_ , lovvie..." he protested, reaching out with one hand to tug at Roger's waistband, eyeing the very prominent erection in his shorts. 

"It's alright," Roger shrugged dismissively, "Later." 

Freddie glanced at the clock and broke into a slow smile, curling his fingers around Roger's hipbone and pulling him closer. 

"I think I can spare another minute or two." 

"Well, I mean..." Roger grinned down at him, biting his lip as he watched Freddie pull down his shorts, his hard dick bobbing free right in front of Freddie's face. "If you insist..." 

"Oh, I _insist_ ," Freddie purred in a low voice, lips all but brushing the tip, before he let his tongue dart out and swirl around it. Lapping up a few tangy drops. 

Roger swore under his breath and threaded his fingers into Freddie's hair, gazing at him through half-hooded eyes. 

"Get on with it then," he murmured cheekily. 

Freddie raised an eyebrow, smirking, and proceeded to _get on with it_ so enthusiastically that it drew a shuddering moan from the other man's throat. 

" _Jeeeesus_ ," Roger whined, tugging at his hair, his hips meeting Freddie's movements. "Shit, that's so good..." 

In a strange moment of detachment, Freddie appraised the situation, wondering how exactly his life had gone from lonesome days and nights locked away in his bedroom to casual blowjobs on a Monday morning. Not that he was complaining. 

He definitely wasn't complaining. 

Being with Roger, in every way, made him feel warmer, somehow, than he had ever felt before. Viscerally human. A version of himself much closer to the one which existed deep inside him, sometimes winking at him in the mirror, sometimes so close to the surface he could almost feel himself become that mirage.  
Glowing. Wild. Sexy. _Free_. 

Freddie gave a low hum, glancing up through his lashes while he slowed right down for a moment, letting Roger's cock slip almost all the way out of his mouth and then again taking as much of it as he could in one smooth move. Making the younger man tremble with need. 

"Ah! Fuck, Freddie- _Please_ -" he moaned, "I'm so close-" 

God, but what a sight he was. Flushed and panting through parted lips, messy strands of hair hanging into his face. Even the ugly bruises on the side of his face could do nothing to lessen his beauty. ' _Fucking gorgeous_ ', Freddie thought and went in for the kill, sucking him off fast and hard, one hand wrapped around Roger's cock, moving in time with his mouth, the other squeezing his perfect, tight arse. 

"Oh fuck! Freddie- oh shit, _ohyes_ \- mmnghgonna come-" 

The hand in his hair tightened, as did Roger's fingers on his shoulder, fingertips digging into his skin. Freddie pulled off and looked up at Roger with a hint of smug satisfaction as he stroked him roughly through his orgasm. Roger's eyes fluttered open just in time to watch himself come across Freddie's collar bone and chest, his expression a mixture of dazed surprise and awe. 

"Holy fuck-" he uttered as the last waves of ecstasy ebbed away. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and tenderly smoothed over Freddie's hair where he had messed it up, tilting his head to the side as he gazed down at him. His eyebrows rose up, a small smile tugging at a corner of his mouth. "Uhm... wow." 

Freddie glanced down at himself and back up, pursing his lips to suppress a grin. "Well, I was going to shower anyway." 

"Right," Roger swallowed, blinked, and tore himself away from the sight. He quickly pulled up his shorts, grabbed some tissue paper and sank to his knees, wiping Freddie's chest clean. 

"Thank you, darling..." Freddie sighed, smiling warmly as he leaned back on his hands. "What?" 

Roger had stopped with a thoughtful expression on his face and was staring at a spot just bellow the crook of Freddie's neck. He glanced up, meeting Freddie's eyes, and looked back down again. And then, he leaned in and quickly ran his tongue along Freddie's collar bone. It was so utterly unexpected that Freddie almost smacked him away. 

"Oh my god, no! Gross!" Freddie gasped. "What are you _doing_?" 

Roger burst out laughing at his outraged reaction and leaned back, a hand over his mouth. 

"Why?" he snickered. "I've tried yours! If anything this is _less_ gross!" 

"I- well- uhh..." Freddie was confused and a little mortified. 

"I just wanted to know if it's different," Roger leaned on Freddie's knee, still snickering, and hid his face behind his hand, peering at him through his fingers. Freddie blinked a few times and then snorted with incredulous laughter. 

"...Is it?" he asked after a moment. 

The younger man nodded with a mildly concerned frown. 

"Uhm... yeah," he said, sounding surprised. 

"Huh." Freddie wasn't sure what to do with that information. 

The longer they looked at each other, the funnier it became, until they both burst out laughing again. 

"God, you're so _strange_ ," Freddie wheezed, wiping his eyes. 

"Humans are strange," Roger chuckled, glancing at the clock, "Christ, it's twenty past, _go_ , go shower already!" 

"I'm going, I'm going!" 

Freddie showered and dressed in a rush, a smile on his lips when he gave himself a quick once over in the mirror. He noticed a pair of warm, blue eyes watching his reflection and met Roger's gaze in the mirror. His mood was a far cry from the glum hopelessness he had felt earlier this morning, he realised. He turned back over his shoulder as Roger came up behind him, laying a hand on his waist.  
Freddie leaned in and pecked him on the lips, smiling wider still as he pulled back. Roger chuckled. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," Freddie shook his head. "I'm happy." 

"Good," Roger said quietly and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'll see you later then." 

"See you later, dear." 

They kissed goodbye one final time before Roger all but pushed Freddie out of the door. 

Sure enough, Freddie's mind was a peaceful oasis of calm for the first half of the day. But unfortunately, his focus had gone along with his anxiety, and so, when he finally came down to earth and regained the former, the latter returned with a vengeance. 

\- - - 

And the week had started off so well. 

Roger gave an exasperated sigh, glancing back over his shoulder. "Fred, I can't bloody hear you over the water. Speak up, would you?" 

"I said, could you do the dishes any louder!" Freddie snapped, "It sounds like you're smashing them to bits, _honestly_." 

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ ," Roger turned half around to look at him properly, eyebrows raised. He demonstratively lifted a cup out of the sink with two fingers, very gingerly placing it down on the draining board. "Like this okay?" 

" _Yes_." Freddie huffed stubbornly, and turned back to his notebook. 

Roger looked at him for a long moment, fighting the overwhelming urge to ask if Freddie knew how fucking _ridiculous_ he was being. But Freddie was stressed, Roger reminded himself. _Very_ stressed. If he just quietly stayed out of his way it would be fine, Roger told himself. Except he wasn't so sure about that. 

It was Wednesday evening and Freddie's mood had worsened exponentially over the course of the week. Roger was afraid to cough too loudly for fear of setting him off. In fact, he'd been accused of that only last night. He would've gone to the pub if it wasn't for the fact that he really couldn't afford it at the moment. Not during the week, that was for sure. Probably not even on the weekend, he thought glumly. Last weekend had been a bit excessive. 

"You know what," Roger murmured and turned the water off, reaching for the dish cloth. "I'll just do them later." 

" _Of course_ you will," Freddie drawled sarcastically. 

Roger crossed his arms, still holding the dish cloth. "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

Freddie drew a breath and looked up at him, then seemed to think better of it and just shook his head, turning away again. 

"Nothing, dear."

A long silence followed. Roger tossed the dish cloth onto the counter and leaned back against it, pursing his lips as he glanced around the room. So maybe Freddie _usually_ got around to the dishes before he did. Maybe that had come up once or twice. Maybe he'd promised to take the rubbish down and forgotten for a few days, until Freddie had jumped to his feet out of the blue one night and barked 'My god, Roger! Can you not smell that!?' at him, slamming the door on his way down to the bins. But he'd started to sort out the mess on his bed this week and he'd remembered to pull his hair out of the shower drain last night.

"I _am_ gonna do them," Roger mumbled, minutes later, with an air of guilty indignation. 

Freddie groaned and hung his head. "Dearie, _please_ , I don't care about the dishes! Could you stop interrupting me every five minutes?" 

"Alright, sorry!" Roger held up his hands and took himself off to the bathroom for a very early, very long shower.

When he returned, freshly shaven and exceptionally clean, Freddie was still lying on the bed with his notebook in front of him. As Roger walked over to his own bed to find something clean to wear, Freddie _growled_ at his paper in frustration and furiously crossed out a few lines, then proceeded to hurriedly leaf through a book he had open beside him. Roger very quietly and carefully picked up his pyjama shorts, which were passably clean. 

"Fuck! Where _is_ it!" Freddie exclaimed

"What-" Roger started carefully. 

Freddie held up his index finger, not looking at him. "Nothing. Just- Could you make me a cup of tea, please? I can't _think_." 

"Yeah, sure." Leaving the shorts on the bed, Roger padded over to the kitchen. "What kind?" 

"Just a regular cuppa, darling. I need to wake up." 

"Milk?" 

"A splash."

Roger put the kettle on, opened the cupboard and reached for the tin of Tetley's.  
It felt suspiciously empty. He gave it a little shake and looked inside. 

"Uhh... We're all out. Sorry." 

He made a face, looking over at Freddie, who finally tore himself away from the book for a moment. 

"What?" he asked, looking so distraught one would think he'd just been informed that Jimi Hendrix had retired from the popular music world. And then his face fell. "Oh... I forgot to go to the shop. _Shit_."

Freddie rolled his eyes and collapsed on top of his notebook with a groan. 

"What's the time?" Roger asked, squinting at the clock on the bedside table, even though he knew fully well that it was probably around eight and the shops would be closed by now. 

"Too late," Freddie sighed, without looking up. "I'm sorry. There's no cereal either." 

Roger wandered over to the fridge and took a look inside. "Well. I can offer you milk, pickle juice or your fancy tea." 

In response, Freddie produced a noise which could have been a sob or a chuckle. To his relief, Roger realised it was the latter when Freddie raised his head and smiled wryly. 

"I wish you'd stop calling it that. But yes, I suppose I'll have a cup of Jasmin tea," he sighed, rubbing the corners of his eyes. "Thank you, dear." 

Roger gave him a scout salute and went to put on his shorts while he was waiting for the water to boil.  
When he set the cup down on the nightstand a few minutes later, Freddie pulled himself up to a sitting position with a catlike stretch.  
Roger perched down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on Freddie's thigh. 

"Take a break," he said gently. 

Freddie's expression softened and he lay his hand over Roger's, linking their fingers together. 

"Thank you," he sighed, "for putting up with me." 

"Don't be stupid," Roger smiled and scooted closer, kissing him on the cheek. Freddie turned into him and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, leaning their foreheads together. 

"Do you still love me?" 

"No, I hate you. Get out," Roger told him in jest, breaking into a grin. Freddie chuckled. 

"'Course I love you," Roger added quietly, and brought a hand up to Freddie's face, brushing away a dark lock of hair. "What kinda stupid question is that?" 

"Just making sure," Freddie whispered.

Their lips met again and Roger slid his hand around the back of Freddie's neck, gently nipping at his lower lip. Inviting himself in. He deepened the kiss as soon as Freddie's lips parted, and for a few moments everything was right with the world. The kiss quickly grew more passionate, making his heart beat faster. Without giving it much thought, Roger released Freddie's hand and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him snug against himself and all but into his lap. Choosing to ignore the faint, half-hearted sound of protestation Freddie made. 

Until the older man abruptly broke away and pushed him off, scooting away from him. 

"No!" Freddie exclaimed, a frown on his face. "What do you think you're _doing_?" 

"Uh..." Roger did not have a single clue what he had done wrong. 

"You're breaking my concentration." Freddie informed him, a little quieter, looking a mixture between embarrassed and annoyed. "You and your- your _wiles_!" He gestured at Roger helplessly, looking him up and down, eyes briefly mapping his naked torso before he turned away.

"I'm sorry, my _what_ now?" Roger laughed, but immediately thought better of it and quietened down when Freddie shot him a dark look. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated earnestly, raising his eyebrows, "I thought you were taking a break." 

"Oh?" Freddie crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I never said I was taking a break. You decided I was!" 

"Yeah, alright," Roger tilted his head and chanced a smile, shifting a little closer. It was the sort of smile that usually brought a reluctant, bashful smirk to Freddie's face. "I just thought you could use a break," he said softly, "Thought you might wanna..." 

Freddie raised an eyebrow. 

"Take my mind off things for a bit?"

Roger gave an innocent shrug. "I mean, whatever you want, really." 

Freddie snorted. "More like whatever _you_ want," he muttered quietly under his breath. 

Roger gave him a confused frown. 

"What?"

The dark-haired man clucked his tongue and shook his head, averting his eyes. 

"Nevermind." 

"Whatever _I_ want?" Roger repeated, not content to be dismissed like that. 

Freddie looked down at his hands, picking at a nail, glanced up at him, and then shook his head some more. 

"I'm just saying," He shrugged. "you don't take no for an answer." 

" _What_?" Roger blinked, completely bewildered. "What the _hell_ are you on about?" 

"Just forget it," Freddie sighed.

"No," Roger protested stubbornly, "No, I'm not just gonna forget it. What do you _mean_?" 

"You're doing it right now!" Freddie exclaimed, meeting his eyes. 

"Well, what do you expect!" Roger retorted, "You can't just say something like that and then tell me to forget about it! Jesus, you're making it sound like- When have I _ever_ done anything you didn't want- Honestly, give me _one_ example. Go on." 

"I- I don't-" Freddie stammered, pulling his lips over his teeth, "I didn't mean it like _that_..." 

"So _how_ did you mean it then!" 

It wasn't until he saw the wary look in Freddie's eyes that Roger realised he was shouting. He drew a breath, trying to think of something conciliatory to say, but before he could, Freddie climbed off the bed and went to put on his shoes. 

"Oh, fuck me, Fred, are you _serious_ right now!?" Roger snapped, all attempts at keeping his composure clean forgotten. "Yeah, go ahead, go sit on the stairs for an hour! Cause that's _real_ mature-" 

"I'm going down to make a phone call, alright?!" Freddie retorted, matching him in volume and tone. "Is that okay with you? Can I make _a fucking phone call_ , Roger?!" 

"Y-yeah..." Roger mumbled lamely, a little taken aback and knowing fully well that his permission was really not needed. He felt like an idiot, all of a sudden. 

" _Thank_ you." Freddie rolled his eyes dramatically, retrieved his address book from his satchel bag and disappeared out the door, slamming it shut behind him. 

Roger didn't move from the bed for a long time, quite literally wringing his hands, then nervously rubbing at his chin and the side of his neck. He couldn't figure out if he felt angry, guilty, hurt or just plain confused. Replaying everything that had just been said in his mind over and over wasn't helping. And who the _fuck_ was Freddie calling anyway. 

By the time he heard footsteps on the stairs, Roger had retreated to his own bed and lit a cigarette, moodily staring at the pile of clothes he'd have to sort out. Because it didn't look like he'd be sleeping in Freddie's bed tonight. And dumping them on the floor wasn't an option. Freddie would probably bite his head off.  
When he heard the key in the door, Roger looked up. 

Freddie entered, quite calmly, and proceeded to pack up his things, barely acknowledging him. 

"And now...?" Roger dared ask, after a little while. 

"I'm going to Brian's," Freddie announced, barely glancing up. 

Roger stared at him, incredulous. 

"For the _night_?" 

Freddie stopped and looked at him with a bemused frown. 

"No, of course not. I'll be back later." He glanced at the clock and considered this for a moment. "I don't know when though, so don't wait up." 

"Please, don't go," Roger heard himself say. He stubbed out his cigarette and climbed off the bed. "You don't have to go. I'm sorry." 

Freddie exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Rog... What are you even sorry for?" 

Roger didn't really have an answer for that, because he hadn't really anticipated that question. Freddie gave a tired sigh and hung his bag over his shoulder. 

"Look, I'm not upset with you. I just have to get this done and I- I _can't_ , here. So, _please_." And with that, he headed for the door, leaving Roger lost for words and more confused still. 

"Okay," Was all he managed to say, "bye?" 

"See you later," Freddie murmured, and closed the door quietly on his way out. 

\- - - 

The journey to Brian's house was a short tube ride, but long enough for Freddie to contemplate what had just happened. He felt bad for leaving the way he had. The hurt look in Roger's eyes weighed on his heart, but dear god, he'd just needed to get _away_ for a moment.  
In part because he had very quickly realised that he didn't have the words to explain how he felt. In all honesty, he didn't even entirely understand it himself.  
The problem was, Freddie thought, that a realisation had suddenly hit him, and not for the first time. He had spotted a pattern. And it was so subtle, a part of him was wondering if he was making something out of nothing. 

Roger was exceptionally good at getting his way. Freddie couldn't think of _one_ example because it was _always_ the same.  
The amount of times he had been late to class, had abandoned work he had been intent on doing, forgotten all about his obligations, forgiven so easily it left him feeling as though he'd been upset over nothing even though deep down he knew that wasn't the case. In a most charming and completely beguiling way, Roger was so entirely relentless and stubborn when he wanted something - be it Freddie's time, Freddie's attention, his forgiveness or his affection - that eventually, he would get it. He would get his way, every time. 

And it wasn't even Roger's fault. Because Freddie _let_ him do it, let himself be coaxed and persuaded in a way he would never allow anyone else to get to him. Because Freddie was stubborn and headstrong, too. But Roger made him weak. And he didn't know how he felt about that. 

"I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, dear, really I am," Freddie apologised a short while later, putting his bag down against the wall in Brian's room. Part of him was already worried that this was a silly idea and he should have just stayed home, but he wasn't going to tell Brian that after calling him up so late to ask if he could come over to work on his dissertation. He surveyed Brian's desk, covered in papers and textbooks which extended all the way onto the bed. 

"Sorry about the mess," Brian had followed his gaze and crossed over to the desk, hurriedly trying to tidy it. "You can have the desk, actually, if you like. I was on the bed just now anyway." 

"Oh, no, it's alright, I'll go on the floor, you'll hardly know I'm here..." 

"No, really. You're writing, I'm just reading and jotting a few things down," Brian pointed out, gesturing between the bed and the desk, "it makes sense." 

Freddie hesitated for a moment, and then picked his bag back up, giving Brian a grateful smile on his way over to the desk. "Well, I suppose you're right. Thank you, dear."

"No problem." Brian smiled back at him, relocating a stack of books and papers onto his bed. "I was just going to make a cup of tea. Would you like some?" 

"Yes!" Freddie gasped with joy, probably looking far too excited over a cup of tea. "Yes, please. I would _love_ some."

"Milk and sugar?" 

"Yes, both. Two sugars, thank you." Freddie was already busy making himself at home at Brian's desk. 

His curly-haired friend nodded and went to the door, then turned back around, pointing to a large, dark blue tin on the desk. 

"There's biscuits, if you want. My mum made them. Help yourself."

Freddie gave another delighted gasp. "Brian! You're my new favourite, darling. Don't tell the others."

With a chuckle, Brian left for the kitchen. Freddie looked around, took a deep breath, and opened his notebook. 

His anxieties had been unfounded, Freddie decided some time later, absently dunking a half-eaten biscuit into his tea while he read over a paragraph for the tenth time, finally content with it. This had been a _brilliant_ idea. It was surprisingly easy to concentrate with Brian so intensely absorbed in his studies beside him. His whole aura was one of calm and immaculate focus, so unlike Roger's chaotic, excitable energy. 

Sitting at a desk also didn't hurt. Quite literally. Freddie leaned back in his chair and stretched, clicking his back. Brian looked up from his book, a sympathetic look on his face. 

"How are you getting on?"

"Pretty well, actually." Freddie glanced over at him with a smile. "Don't mind if I stay until Friday, do you?" he added, a little twinkle in his eye. 

Brian laughed and went quiet for a bit, then looked back up at him. 

"Not that it's any of my business, but did you and Rog fall out or something?"

"Oh, no, it's not that," Freddie said lightly, waving a dismissive hand. "It's just, we're living in each other's pockets in that tiny attic. It can get a bit much, that's all." 

Brian nodded and turned back to his book. "Yeah, I'm sure. I couldn't imagine sharing a room with Chrissie at the moment." 

"Well, that's different," Freddie looked over at him out of the corner of his eye, frowning a little. "She's your girlfriend-" 

"Yes, yes, of course. I meant... sharing a room, in general. Sorry." Brian shook his head, eyes firmly on his book. 

Freddie slowly turned back to his notebook, but suddenly couldn't seem to focus on the words in front of him anymore. 

"You've not considered it?" he asked, looking up. "Moving in together?" 

Brian looked up, eyebrows raised. "Chrissie and I? Well... Not really, I mean..."

"You've been together a while," Freddie pointed out. 

"Yeah," Brian smiled, tapping his pencil on top of his book. "It just doesn't feel like it's the right time for it. I can't..." His smile grew a little wider, and Freddie could swear he was blushing a little. "I can't imagine I'd get much done... if I was with her all the time." 

Brian met Freddie's eyes for a moment and Freddie grinned, pulling his lips over his teeth. 'I can relate,' he very much wanted to say. 

"Wise," he said, nodding his head slowly. "Very wise of you." 

"I don't know." Brian leaned back against the wall, chewing on the end of his pencil, still smiling. "It's strange, isn't it? When you're with someone?" 

Freddie shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal sort of way. 

"You're so... _happy_ ," Brian mused. "But at the same time, it's like it takes you over, completely. All that happiness. And you lose yourself a little." 

Freddie frowned thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. "What do you mean, dear?" 

"Well, for example," Brian looked up at the ceiling, remembering. "When Chrissie and I first started dating, I stopped writing songs. Completely. I couldn't, for a few months. You feel so much, you think, why doesn't this inspire me? But... I don't really know," He shook his head. "I lost all my inspiration, for a bit. Sometimes I think maybe you need to be a bit miserable to come up with the good stuff." He met Freddie's eyes. "You know what I mean?" 

"Yes," Freddie blinked and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. "I do." 

"Anyway," Brian shook himself out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, I'm distracting you."

"It's alright," Freddie said quietly, still mulling over his words.

"You can come over tomorrow as well, if you need to." Brian added, and returned his attention to his textbook.

"Thanks," Freddie watched him for a moment, and turned back to his notebook. "I might take you up on that offer."

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Roger. You have too much game for your own good.
> 
> Also, Freddie is a handful but we love him. 
> 
> I am eagerly awaiting your comments! 😘


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old scars and fresh wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your continued support and outpouring of love for this story! It means so, so much to me, you have no idea! 
> 
> Thanks a bunch to my amazing beta, JMLaurence!

\- - - 

Freddie's first kiss was a dizzying blur of sensations and emotions. It was a bit awkward, and very sloppy and so exciting his heart almost leapt out of his chest. It lasted for what felt like a long time, long enough for his lips to feel raw and swollen by the time the older boy pulled away, leaving him short of breath and longing for more. Dev was sixteen and on the cricket team, broad-shouldered, lean and all muscle. Freddie knew that because he'd watched him pull his shirt up to wipe his face on it during a game, prompting Freddie to stare at Dev's bare torso so hard he was sure the image was burned into his brain. Not that he minded. Dev had a quiff of soft brown hair (just like Elvis) and large, green eyes, and frankly, fourteen-year-old Freddie was sure that he was the most gorgeous boy alive. Freddie blinked, completely over the moon, floating in a realm of pure happiness and delight while standing in a dingy cricket shed, gazing up into those green eyes with a big, dopey smile on his lips. The latter he quickly remembered to cover, a hand instinctively flying up to his mouth.   
Dev tilted his head and smirked, one hand lingering on Freddie's waist. 

"You've not done this before, have you?" 

Freddie's smile faltered and he lowered his hand.

"Is it obvious?" he asked timidly. 

The older boy looked down at him with a hint of fond amusement. 

"You don't need to open your mouth so much." 

"Oh." Freddie blushed to the very tips of his ears. "I'm sorry, I-" 

Dev chuckled at his embarrassment and leaned down again, cutting him off with another kiss. Freddie returned it, self-consciously peering down his nose and trying to follow the advice. It felt a bit less messy, the second time around. Just as he closed his eyes, relaxing into this breathtaking new sensation, the other boy pulled away again. 

"We should go back." 

Already? Freddie thought sadly, wondering if this was it, then.   
If it was ever going to happen again.   
If he was truly terrible at kissing. 

"Alright," he said, lowering his eyes. 

Dev lay a hand on the door and then turned back to him. 

"You know," he said, gazing at the cricket bats just past Freddie's shoulder. "there, um... there was a boy I knew, back home. We used to go fishing. But when I got home this last summer, he wasn't there anymore." Dev looked at the door and ran his fingers along the rough wooden slats. "He got caught... with another man." 

"Oh." Was all Freddie could think to say. He hadn't been sure why he was being told any of this, but it was starting to dawn on him now. 

"They stoned them to death." Dev said quietly, his voice as impassive as his eyes, when he looked up. "Not a word, Bucky. You got that?" 

Freddie nodded, eyes wide. 

"Not a word to anyone. Swear on your life." 

"I swear," Freddie uttered in a near whisper, a sickly feeling of dread in his stomach as the full weight of their transgression sank in. 

"On your _life_." 

"I swear on my life," Freddie repeated earnestly. 

"Alright... alright, good." Dev ran a hand through his hair and peered through the cracks in the door. "I'll head back 'round the pitch. Don't follow me." 

Walking across the school grounds some time later, Freddie had never felt so thrilled and terrified in equal measure. But such was human nature that, with time, he learned to make light of the fear.

They all did. 

\- - - 

It was just after midnight when Freddie returned. Roger knew that even though he was in bed, facing the wall, with the duvet pulled up almost all the way over his head. He had heard Big Ben chime faintly in the distance not too long ago as he lay awake, tired but far too worked up to go to sleep. 

He heard Freddie's platform shoes clunk to the floor, heard him sigh and switch on the bathroom light. Heard the water running, and the rustle of clothes some time later. 

_Never go to bed angry._

Roger was sure he'd heard that said before. It sounded like something his Nan might have said, or Auntie Ruthie, or perhaps it was just one of those things everyone intrinsically knew. 

Well, tonight, that couldn't be helped. 

Somewhere between pouring the cold cup of tea Freddie had never touched, which he had made for him, out into the sink and replaying Freddie's words in his mind for what felt like the millionth time, Roger had realised he was _furious_. How could Freddie say such a thing? How dare he accuse him of, as Roger understood it, essentially being the only one calling the shots in their relationship when that couldn't have been further from the truth? When, in actual fact, things _always_ had to be Freddie's way or no one was happy. It had been Freddie's idea to move in together, and frankly, Roger didn't feel like he'd had much of a say in the matter. And it _had_ to be Kensington, so here they were with no room to swing a cat, paying rent which could have easily afforded them a much better size place somewhere else. Which, just by the by, Roger thought, it looked like he would be paying on his own this week. Just as he had last week.   
Won't take no for an answer, my arse. Roger couldn't even put a record on if it didn't agree with Freddie's mood. And when was the last time Freddie had made _him_ a cup of tea, anyway? 

And yet, Roger thought as he lay staring at the wall, he knew that if Freddie came over and sat down beside him, if he reached out and put his arms around him and told him he was sorry, none of it would have mattered all that much anymore. Roger knew it was silly, because Freddie probably thought he was asleep, but a part of him stubbornly refused to turn around and insisted that Freddie _had_ to know he wasn't sleeping, that he couldn't sleep after the way he had walked out on him, that he was _upset_. Surely, Freddie would at least whisper his name to make sure. 

But nothing. 

The bathroom light went off, and then, there was nothing except the quiet rustle of bedsheets.   
For a long while, Roger listened to the silence that followed, still holding out hope. Until it became quite evident by his slow, deep breathing that Freddie had gone to sleep almost as soon as his head had touched the pillow. Roger turned over in bed and peered into the darkness, staring at the silhouette in the bed across from him. 

_'Do you still love me?'_

'Do _you_?', Roger thought and continued to look at Freddie's peacefully sleeping form for some time before he finally closed his eyes. 

Big Ben chimed a few more times while sleep continued to elude him. 

Roger awoke with a start to the sound of Freddie's alarm clock and sat up, smacking his head on the low, tilted wall beside his bed. 

"Motherfucker," he muttered and rubbed his head, disoriented for a moment, not used to the bed he had slept in. He looked over at Freddie's bed with a bleary-eyed frown and saw that the other man was no longer in it. The sound of the shower running finally registered at the back of his mind and Roger got up with a groan, saving Freddie's alarm clock before it could rattle itself off the night stand.   
Then he slowly crossed over to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water. 

As his mind cleared, his heart sank. Roger realised that he had hoped things might seem different, in the light of day, but the night's sleep hadn't erased the resentment he felt. For a moment he wondered if he could get dressed fast and just leave while Freddie was still in the shower. It wasn't as if there was anything to eat or drink in the house anyway. However, before he could go through with that plan, the water was turned off. Roger sighed and rubbed his face, taking the glass over to his bed and retreating into the corner by the headboard. He didn't _want_ to have a fight, but he didn't know that he would be able to stop himself from speaking his mind this morning. 

Freddie emerged from the bathroom naked, towelling off his hair, and acknowledged him with a soft 'morning, dear' on his way to his clothes, which still lived in stacks on the floor beside his bed. 

"Oh, did you turn off the alarm?" Freddie wondered, glancing at the time. "I woke up ridiculously early and couldn't go back to sleep. Even though I feel like I could sleep for a _week_! It's unbearable," he rambled absently as he quickly ran a brush through his damp hair and begun to dress himself, "I think I won't know what to do with myself after tomorrow, if I'm honest. I've been thinking about nothing but this bloody dissertation for so long." He rolled his eyes, putting on his wristwatch. "Do you know, I did almost finish it last night. I might head over to Brian's again tonight and then I can type it all up on Friday and _voilà_ , c'est ça!" Freddie slipped on a shirt, looking up at Roger with a small smile while he buttoned it up. "I imagine most of us will be going for a drink or several on Friday night. Would you like to come along, dear?" 

Roger looked back at him, his expression outwardly one of placid disinterest. Meanwhile, burning in his chest was the anger he had felt last night, back in full force. Apparently, Freddie didn't seem to think anything was wrong at all. Roger genuinely couldn't believe it. 

"No." he answered him coldly. "Can't bloody afford it, can I." 

At last, Freddie paused and tilted his head, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. 

"Oh... well," he chanced another smile, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm not entirely penniless just yet, I think we can allow ourselves a couple of drinks, although we might have to eat cereal for dinner next week!" he laughed, but quickly grew quiet when Roger's expression didn't change.

"You're cross with me," Freddie observed, pulling his lip over his teeth as he propped one hand up on his waist. 

"You think?" Roger replied snarkily and got up from the bed to return the glass to the kitchenette because suddenly, he couldn't bare to sit still. Freddie gave a pronounced sigh behind him. 

"What do you want me to say, dear?" 

Roger snorted, put the glass down in the sink and turned around, his frown deepening into a scowl. 

"Gosh, I don't know. 'Sorry' might be a good start." 

Freddie scratched the tip of his nose, looking down at his feet. 

"I didn't- I didn't mean for what I said to come across the way it did." 

Roger shook his head and narrowed his eyes at him. "You made me feel like _shit_ , Freddie. And then you just _left_."

The dark-haired man glanced up at him, chewing his lips. "I'm sorry you felt that way." 

"Fuck off!" Roger crossed his arms, a mixture of anger and disappointment in his eyes. "That's the most half-arsed apology I've ever heard."

"What do you _want_ from me?" Freddie groaned, exasperated. "I was trying to tell you how I feel, and I went about it badly, alright? I'm _sorry_." 

"You know how I feel?" There was a slight tremor in his voice now. Roger tried to reign it in, tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat. "I feel like you don't even care at all because you're just too damn _busy_ to care and you still think you're right, anyway." 

The silence that followed was far, far too long. 

"I don't-" Freddie shook his head, his fingers tracing the line of his jaw, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I think, maybe... it's just that we've been spending too much time together..."

Of all the things Roger had expected Freddie to say, this was not one. The words felt like a punch in the gut. 

"We're right on top of each other, in here... All the time." Freddie continued carefully. "I just think, maybe that doesn't... help." 

"You wanted to share a place," Roger said weakly, "This was your idea-" 

Freddie gave a helpless little shrug and had the decency to look apologetic. 

"I know." 

"So... what?" asked Roger. "What are you saying?" 

"I don't know," Freddie murmured and met his eyes hesitantly. 

Roger looked back at him and leaned against the sink, feeling deflated. He ran his hands over his face. No longer angry. Just sad, and speechless. 

"I love you," Freddie offered gently. "All I'm saying is that... maybe..." He trailed off and shook his head, frowning to himself. "God, I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying, I really don't."

"Tell me something," Roger lowered his hands and absently rubbed at the callouses on his fingers. "Is this..." He glanced down at his hands and back up. "Are- are we in a relationship?" 

Freddie met his eyes again, eyebrows slightly raised and teeth poking out between his parted lips. 

"Are you my boyfriend?" Roger asked, when Freddie didn't reply immediately. He held his gaze firmly, knowing his own answer so clearly the question seemed ridiculous, but he had to _know_. He had to hear it. 

"Am I yours?" 

"Roger..." Freddie whispered and his face softened. Roger's heart gave a small, hopeful leap when Freddie stepped closer, reaching for his hand and taking it in his. His eyes were warm and brimming with emotion. 

"I love you," Freddie repeated, assured him, giving his hand a squeeze. "Isn't that enough?" 

Roger stared at him, unable to wrap his mind around his answer for a second or two, and then his expression darkened. 

"Answer the question." he demanded, _pleaded_. 

Freddie sighed and looked away. "It's not as simple as that, you know it isn't."

"It is." Roger swallowed and pulled his hand away. "It is for _me_." His voice broke on the last word and he shouldered past Freddie, taking himself to the other side of the room, aimlessly pacing between his bed and their broken mirror. "And _no_ ," he added. "it's not." 

Freddie hovered awkwardly beside the sink, watching him. 

"It's not what?" 

Roger stopped and looked up at him, a flash of renewed anger in his eyes. "Enough! It's not _enough_!"

Freddie took a deep breath and looked up at the skylight for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line, trying to keep his composure. 

"A _boyfriend_ ," he said slowly, his voice tightly controlled. "is someone a girl brings home to her parents. Someone she introduces to her friends. Someone she probably hopes to marry one day, Roger, _in what world_ -" he broke off, and seemed to choose his words carefully. "This is not like that. And it's never going to be, no matter what you or I want. You _know_ that, so why pretend-" 

"I _don't_ know that!" Roger exclaimed, cutting him off. "I don't give _a single flying fuck_ what a boyfriend is _supposed_ to be, Freddie! Fuck the rest of the world! Fuck our parents, fuck EVERYONE! I care what _you_ think, not anyone else!" 

"And what happens if your record takes off?" Freddie suddenly shot back, staring at him with wide eyes. "Have you thought about that?" 

Roger blinked, brought up short by the question. He really hadn't. 

"Because I have!" Freddie continued, taking a step toward him. "What happens if- if suddenly, reporters start combing through your personal life? What happens if someone finds out? Are you not going to care about the rest of the world _then_? Or, nevermind that!" Freddie threw up his hands. "What happens when your parents start asking you why you don't have a girlfriend? What will you _tell_ them? What happens when you realise you'd quite like a regular fucking life, Roger!" He blinked, seemingly taken aback by his own words, and frowned. "What if _I_ want that..."

Roger didn't know where to even begin. He didn't know what to say to any of it, because he had never once stopped to think about these things. 

But Freddie clearly had. 

"It's just that," Freddie shook his head, tucking a damp curl of hair away. "I think we have to be realistic..." 

The look in his eyes was despondent, and it penetrated Roger's heart wholly. He turned away, even as Freddie glanced at his wristwatch with a wretched sigh. 

"You've picked the _worst_ time for this, you know that, dear?" he said tiredly. "I have to go in a minute." 

"So go." Roger muttered, not looking up. 

Neither of them moved. Freddie shifted from one foot to the other. Roger could feel his eyes on him. He heard him draw a breath a couple of times, but no words followed. The silence became unbearable and Roger couldn't take it anymore. He made for the bathroom and ducked inside, closing the door behind himself.   
The air in the small room was still humid and smelled of Freddie's shampoo. Roger turned on the water in the sink and watched it go down the drain. The lump in his throat was threatening to suffocate him. Then he cupped his hands and bent down, splashing cold water into his eyes. Washing away tears before they could fall and leave a trace.   
He grabbed the hand towel, leaving the water running, and buried his face in it. Willed himself to stop crying. 

After all, Freddie wasn't crying. So why should he? No, Freddie was just being _realistic_ , Roger thought bitterly.   
And apparently, realistically speaking, whatever it was they had - and it clearly _wasn't_ a relationship, how fucking stupid of him to assume - had never had a future. Not in the short or long term. 

So what was the point? Roger wondered. What the _fuck_ was the point then? 

There was a soft knock on the door. Roger quickly lowered the towel, one hand shooting out to turn the key in the lock. 

"Rog?" 

Freddie's voice sounded close, albeit muffled through the door, as though he was leaning against it. 

"Roger, open up." 

There was an audible sigh. 

"I can't leave like this." 

Roger wordlessly stared at the door, then lowered his eyes to the key. 

"Will you _please_ open up?" 

Roger swallowed and stepped closer to the door, resting a hand against the worn wood panel as he leaned his forehead against it. 

" _Please_..." Freddie pleaded, and Roger's hand moved down to the key. A part of him wanted nothing more than to be held close and for Freddie to tell him-

What? That he hadn't meant it? It didn't feel like Freddie's words could be taken back so easily. 

"God, Roger, please don't do this to me right now," Freddie whined. "I can't spend all day thinking about this, not today!"

Roger frowned, fingers slipping off the key and clenching into a fist. 

"Too bad." he replied spitefully. 

There was a moment of silence. Then, an exasperated huff and a loud bang that reverberated through the wood. Roger flinched away from the door. 

"Just open the bloody door, for god's sake!" 

"No!" Roger called, his jaw tense. 

" _Roger_!" 

" _Bye_ , Fred!" Roger barked at the door, and he wasn't going to cry anymore. He wasn't going to cry, he told himself stubbornly, clenching his fists. 

There was a moment of silence. 

"Fine." Freddie's voice was fainter now, behind the door, the second word he uttered more distant still. "Goodbye."

Roger heard Freddie's footsteps on the creaky floorboards, heard the door open a while later and fall back into its lock with a resounding clang. He slumped, one shoulder against the wall, and waited. And waited for it to stop hurting so badly, all the while knowing fully well that it wouldn't. 

\- - - 

Freddie pulled out his cigarettes before he had reached the bottom of the stairs, lighting one on his way out of the door, bumping straight into a man passing by outside. 

"Mind where you're going!" 

"I'm sorry," Freddie mumbled, barely glancing up, and made his way down the street with quick strides. His eyes were burning. His heart raced with tumultuous emotion. 

Every step felt like a mistake. 

He wanted to turn around and run back up the stairs. But what then? What would that change? It wouldn't change the fact that Roger was kidding himself if he thought they could just carry on like this forever, call each other boyfriends and pretend that it was alright.   
It wasn't _alright_. 

When all this had started, Freddie had never once dared imagine it might go on for as long as it had. More than that, he had been _sure_ that it wouldn't. Couldn't. He hadn't expected to get so deeply entangled that there was talk of a relationship, a future.

What _future_? 

When at every turn, Freddie was reminded anew of how precarious their situation was, what a potential for terrible, life-altering consequences it held.   
Roger had been kicked out of his flatshare.   
Freddie had lied himself into a corner and had no idea what he was going to do about it. In fact, he was trying very hard not to think about it at all for the moment.   
And over the weekend, they had both almost come to serious harm. Not because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not even because of the colour of his skin. Not really. But because they had been _together_ in a way they shouldn't be, in the wrong place and at the wrong time, and it was obvious. 

There was no _right_ place for what they were doing. Freddie knew that. Didn't Roger realise that? Wasn't he scared? 

Freddie was scared. He was terrified. For Roger, for himself, terrified of what might happen if they ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time once too often. Of what his parents would do if they found out. Of the fact that he had never felt so strongly about anyone before, never wanted and needed someone so desperately before, certainly no girl he had ever gone out with. He didn't want to think about what that _meant_. 

Because he _wasn't_ -

He _couldn't_ be-

Fuck, this cigarette was giving him a terrible headrush. There was a sickly, hot tingling at the back of his neck. Feeling dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden, Freddie came to a halt, leaning against the cool stone wall of the building beside him. His stomach felt knotted and hollow, all at the same time. It figured, Freddie thought, after all he hadn't eaten anything but a bit of cereal and some biscuits over the course of the last day and a half. Was that right? Had he skipped lunch? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? The unpleasant hot sensation twisted around his neck and spread to his chest, constricting it, and it felt like _dread_. Raw, overwhelming fear that he couldn't shake. The cigarette fell from his fingers, his palms clammy and his heartbeat fast, too fast. Freddie could no longer feel the ground he was standing on, as though he was hurtling down a well at a hundred miles an hour toward certain death. Oh god, he was going to die. He was going to pass out and _die_ right here on the pavement. It made no sense, but he couldn't grasp a single clear thought in his mind to tell him otherwise. The fear was all-consuming and stifling, his legs were barely holding him up. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, leaning against the wall with his full weight and turning his face into it. Away from the people rushing down the street on their morning commute. Some of them cast strange looks his way, but he was hardly aware of it. Instinctively, Freddie tried to focus on his breathing and slowly, very slowly, felt like he was regaining control over his own body. He became aware of the cool stone against his cheek. The taste of tobacco in his mouth. Cold sweat all down his chest.   
It took minutes for the terrifying sensation to subside completely, minutes that felt like an eternity. Until he finally opened his eyes, running a trembling hand through his hair, gazing around the busy street as if he couldn't quite believe it was all still there. 

What the _fuck_? Good god, what was _wrong_ with him?

Freddie shivered and stood still for a long time until he felt like himself again. He glanced down at his wristwatch and groaned in dismay. Taking a few deep breaths, he pushed himself off from the wall and finally continued on his way toward the tube station on unsteady legs. He would grab a scone from the café right beside the station. Yes, that was it. He needed some food and he needed to put it all out of his mind. Roger, this morning, this awful dizzy spell.   
He had to put it out of his mind, just until tomorrow afternoon, Freddie thought, gathering all of his determination. 

He _had_ to.

\- - - 

Roger arrived at the market very late and left early. 

He couldn't be bothered. 

His feet took him toward the Kensington on auto-pilot, even though he knew he couldn't really afford to spend what little money he'd made today. 

He didn't care. 

Halfway to the pub he stopped, frowning to himself, and decided to change course. A hand in his pocket and a cigarette between his lips, Roger arrived at the Red Lion a little while later and peered in through the window before he stepped inside. It was a small, cosy affair, situated on a street corner across from the park. It wasn't even four o'clock yet, so the place was still almost empty. Roger made his way to the bar and sat down, removing the vintage brown leather biker cap he'd nicked from the stall today. 

"Oi," he called to the blond barmaid who was busy putting glasses up on a shelf with her back turned to him, and hadn't noticed him yet. "Can I get some service around here?" 

Carrie turned and Roger put his hat up in front of his face, a cheeky grin on his lips when she came over and pulled it down. 

"Well, hello there," she smiled back at him, and playfully snatched the cap away from him. Then she bent over to collect her long hair, twisting it into a bun at the top of her head, and put the cap on. 

"Nice," Roger nodded approvingly, eyes wandering down the smooth curve of her exposed neck while she tucked a few loose strands away. "Very twenties paperboy." 

Carrie laughed heartily and leaned on the handle of a beer tap, reaching for an empty glass.

"Pint of bitter?" 

"Yup." Roger leaned onto the bar, looking at the taps. "Wait, no. Mild." Watneys mild lager tasted like piss, or so he thought, but it was the cheapest beer you could get and-

"Fuck it." Roger changed his mind again. "Yes, bitter." 

Carrie raised a questioning eyebrow at him as she started pouring the pint.

"I can't really afford either, anyway," Roger chuckled mirthlessly, picking at the beer mat on the bar. 

Carrie gave an understanding hum and placed the glass in front of him a moment later. Roger looked up and she gave him a wink and a small, secretive smile. 

"Don't worry about it." 

Roger raised his eyebrows but didn't have time to thank her as someone else walked up to the bar and demanded her attention.   
She returned to him half a pint and a cigarette later and took off the cap, shaking out her hair. Roger watched it cascade down her back, golden and soft.

"What happened to your face?" Carrie asked, her eyes surveying the bruise on his cheek as she handed the cap back to him. 

Roger shrugged. 

"Got into a fight." 

"Oh my. _You_?" 

"Don't sound so surprised." He snorted, and added, half-joking: "You should see the other bloke." 

"Oh yeah?" Carrie was watching him curiously. 

"Yeah," Roger lit another cigarette and realised the pack was almost finished. Shit. He could've sworn he'd only bought it yesterday afternoon. "Freddie broke his nose," he told her, and wanted to follow it up with a laugh, but didn't quite manage it. 

_Freddie._

Carrie was still looking at him. He met her eyes for a moment and glanced back down at the beer mat, pulled an ashtray over and ashed his cigarette. 

"Everything alright?" she finally asked, her voice soft. 

Roger shook his head, taking a drag and scratching at his cheek. It felt rough with stubble. 

"No." he said quietly. 

\- - - 

"Gosh, Fred," Brian's eyebrows knotted into a frown as he stepped aside, letting Freddie into his flat. "Everything alright?" 

"Yes, why?" Freddie gave a flimsy smile, making an effort to brighten up his face. 

Brian's eyes followed him as he crossed the living room. 

"Uhm, I don't know, you just..." 

"I'm _exhausted_ ," Freddie told him with a sigh and a flick of his wrist. "Are you telling me I look dreadful?" 

"Well..." Brian gave him a crooked smile and Freddie laughed it off, running a self-conscious hand through his hair. 

It was true, he had felt drained all day, following the awful morning he'd had. He was pretty sure it was only the excessive amount of coffee he'd had today which was keeping him going at this point.   
Speaking of which. 

"I don't suppose you have some coffee, dear?" Freddie asked as they stepped through into Brian's room. 

\- - - 

The pub filled up over the course of the afternoon, the landlord joined Carrie behind the bar and Roger was left with few opportunities to actually talk to her. However, she refilled his glass without his bidding whenever she saw it empty and he was extremely grateful for that. He'd needed this, Roger thought, three beers into the evening. Today, he'd really needed this. 

It was only in snippets and not in great detail that he had managed to convey to her what had happened, and he doubted he'd told it very well, but it didn't matter. When she handed him his fourth beer, Roger found himself summing it up quite succinctly. 

"You know what really fucking sucks?" he asked, rhetorically, meeting her kind, hazel eyes. Carrie raised her eyebrows. 

"When you realise you're the stupid mug... who loves somebody more than they love you." 

The blonde tilted her head with a sad, sympathetic smile. His eyes lingered there, on her lips, before absently travelling lower, subtly taking in the way her shirt stretched over her breasts. He knew what those looked like, he reminded himself. He knew what they felt like, too, in his hands. 

"That does suck. I'm sorry." Carrie said. 

"Yeah," Roger took his pint and swivelled around on his bar stool, surveying the other patrons in the pub. "Me too." 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... panic attacks are fun.
> 
> And yes, I know this was hard to read. But trust me, the next chapter will be very, very interesting. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment, it really makes my day when you talk to me! ❤️


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of fear and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE READ THE NOTES.**
> 
>  
> 
> First off, thank you so much for so passionately living this story with me. I am touched, truly, by the responses I receive week after week. 
> 
> This week, I have a few things to say.
> 
> Firstly, the division between "Team Freddie" and "Team Roger" which happened last week was fascinating. I just wanted to say, no one is _wrong_. As a writer, I have my own opinions and intentions for the story. However, as readers, the story is yours and you are free to interpret it however you like. The same story can speak to many people differently, and that's the beauty of it. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is **not at all** what I expected to write. Perhaps a little bit frightened by people feeling so passionately one way or the others, I had the urge to "fix" things in this chapter but... the characters write the story. Not me. So I watched things unfold in this chapter as I sat down to write it, and they were truthful and authentic, and all I could do was write them down. But like I've mentioned a million times, realism is what I care about in storytelling. And the reality is, these characters I'm writing are flawed, human and fallible. They're very young, they're stupid, they're vulnerable. Thay have deep-seated issues, and as I wrote this chapter I became acquainted with some of Roger's which I hadn't even been aware of previously.
> 
> If you have to put this "book" down at this point, because it's just not what you're into, that's fine, too. Thank you for reading. ❤️
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross was published in 1969, introducing the Kübler-Ross model. You all know it as The Five Stages of Grief.  
> \- The songs mentioned in this chapter are 'Incense and Peppermints' by Strawberry Alarm Clock and 'You've Lost that Loving Feeling' by the Righteous Brothers. 
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to my awesome beta reader, JMLaurence. 
> 
> And now, you may proceed...

\- - - 

_Am I yours?_

Blue eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day, when they shone with happiness, and as murky, deep and tempestuous as the ocean, when they filled with sadness or flashed hot with anger.  
Eyes that looked at him as if he was the most pleasing, the most wondrous thing in the world. Eyes full of unconditional love, full of longing, full of desire. 

"Fred?" 

Fair hair, honey gold in the sun falling in through the skylight, splayed out on the pillow beside him. His face buried in that softness, enveloped by the familiar scent of the other's hair and skin which smelled sweeter to him than anything else in the world. His arms wrapped around a slender body, angular and yet soft, in places. 

_Am I_

_yours?_

"Fred." 

"Huh?" Freddie looked up, gaping at Brian blankly for a moment before his eyes cleared. "I'm sorry, dear, I was miles away." He attempted a smile but couldn't quite pull it off. 

_Mistake._

_A mistake._

_Was a mistake._

_Every step was a mistake._

"What time do you have to hand it in by tomorrow?" Brian asked. 

"Before six o'clock," Freddie sighed tiredly, looking at the mess of taped up pages before him. Of course, he'd decided to restructure a few things last minute and now it was all a patchwork of scotch tape holding together strips of his writing.  
Brian was looking at him from his armchair in the corner of the living room. His flatmate had gone out and so, after a short break and a bite to eat in the form of a hastily thrown together sandwich, they had settled in the sitting room. Freddie had taken over the sofa, pages spread out in front of him on the coffee table. 

"So go home," Brian suggested gently. "Get some rest. You'll have enough time tomorrow." 

"I've overstayed my welcome, haven't I," Freddie met his eyes for a moment and started to put the pages in order. "I'm sorry, dear. I'll get out of your hair." 

"No, don't be silly, it's not that."

"No, really, I'll be off in just a minute-" 

"Freddie, stop. I'm not kicking you out." One corner of Brian's mouth lifted into a smile. "You'd know if I was." 

"Good." Freddie looked up at him properly and stopped what he was doing for a moment, returning the smile. "I appreciate your honesty." 

Brian gave a short, quiet laugh. "Most people don't."

"Well, of course they don't. There are two things people are afraid of," Freddie said lightly, trying to remember what page number he was up to and looking for the next one. "Death, and the truth."

Brian hummed thoughtfully and chewed on his pencil for a bit. 

"You know, a friend of mine- medical student-lent me a very interesting book recently. I think you might like it." 

"Oh?" Freddie finished ordering his pages as Brian continued. 

"Yes... It's meant to be sort of a guide for medical students about- well, it's a bit pseudoscientific, if you ask me. I thought it was more philosophical."

"What's it called?" 

"On Death and Dying." 

Freddie snorted. "A cheery title."

Brian gave a chuckle. "Yeah, well. It's about grief, for the most part. The author identifies five stages of grief, it's quite interesting... Anyway, there was something else that stayed with me. She proposes there are only two basic emotions at the core of every emotion we feel. Fear, or love."

Freddie lowered his papers and tilted his head to the side with a frown. "What about hate?" 

"Ah." Brian raised his eyebrows and pointed his pencil at him. " _Fear_."

Freddie narrowed his eyes at him, a small curious smile on his lips. "How so?" 

"A lot of the time, we hate something because we don't understand it," said Brian, leaning forward in his chair, very evidently enjoying himself. "When you begin to understand something or- or someone, if you empathise with someone, you can no longer hate them." 

"I suppose," Freddie stretched his aching back and glanced at the sofa he was sitting on. "I shall make myself a little more comfortable, dear. If you don't mind?" 

"Of course not, go ahead," Brian waved his hand dismissively and Freddie stretched out on the sofa, head on one armrest and his feet hanging over the other, hands folded on top of his stomach. 

"So then," Brian continued. "if we don't understand something it scares us, because we don't understand it, right?" 

"Right."

"So hate stems from fear," Brian concluded. "I mean, that's only one scenario. It could be fear of death, fear of failure... Think about something you hate. You'll be amazed, it holds true."

Conversely, Freddie thought of the weekend just gone and the gang of lads, and how much they seemed to hate _him_ because of his otherness, for lack of a better word. 

"Hmm." He scratched the tip of his nose and turned his head a little, meeting Brian's eyes. "So then, hate isn't the opposite of love, really..." 

"Fear is," Brian nodded. "Yeah. She writes that it's impossible to feel those two emotions at the same time. If you're in a place of love, you have no fear. And if you're in a place of fear, you can't love." 

Freddie pursed his lips, turning that statement over in his mind. 

_If you're in a place of fear, you can't love._

"What if the fear is justified?" he asked quietly.

Brian shrugged. "Well, I suppose sometimes it is. There isn't anything wrong with fear, per se. It keeps us safe." 

"No, but... no." Freddie lifted his hand to his lips, chewing on a nail as he gazed up at the ceiling. "I don't think that's true at all, I think you can absolutely be in love and afraid at the same time." 

Brian leaned back in his chair and thought about it. "No," he shook his head. "Not wholeheartedly, I don't think."

_It's not **enough**!_

Freddie stared at a small crack in the ceiling, trying not to blink, because suddenly, there was a sheen of tears clouding his eyes and he was afraid one might roll down his cheek. Trying not to breathe, because he was afraid his breath would catch and give him away. 

_You don't even care at all..._

The wave of emotion had hit him full force and completely without warning, and he was desperately trying to get himself under control. If only his face would obey him, but the corners of his mouth wouldn't stop twitching so he pressed his lips together tightly and blindly reached for the stack of papers on the coffee table. 

"Anyway, it's late," he managed to get out, fighting to keep his voice steady as he hid behind his dissertation. And just in time, too. A tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down toward his earlobe. He wiped it away hurriedly, holding the papers much too close to his face. "I-I'm just gonna read this through one-" Freddie cleared his throat. "one last time." 

And he proceeded to stare at the first page, his writing a blur through the tears which seemed to have no intention of abating. Good god, _enough_ already, Freddie thought angrily. He hadn't cried so much in all his life as he had over the last two months. 

Alright, that was a lie. 

But then again, he didn't think he had ever felt _so much_ all at once before. Was love supposed to be so messy? Was it supposed to be this _hard_? 

Of course not, Freddie thought with a pang of shameful self-reproach. It surely wouldn't be this hard, if he hadn't gone and fallen in love with someone he wasn't supposed to have those feelings for. 

"Freddie...?" 

_Shit_. That tone of voice didn't bode well. It was too cautious, too concerned. 

"I'm fine." Freddie blurted out, trying to pre-empt any questions, his chest tight with embarrassment. 

"Okay," Brian said quietly. "I'm going to my room. Let me know if you need anything, alright?"

"Alright," Freddie breathed, intensely grateful to Brian for his perceptiveness and discretion. 

\- - - 

It was turning out to be quite the happening Thursday night at the Red Lion. What with the warm weather many people had wandered in from the park, cheerful and relaxed. Carrie had turned up the volume on the transistor radio behind the bar some time ago, even though the music was mostly drowned out by chatter and laughter. But sitting at the bar, Roger could hear it, his fingers subconsciously drumming along to the beat while he sipped his drink, a cigarette in the same hand, tucked between two fingers. 

_Good sense, innocence, cripplin' mankind_  
_Dead kings, many things I can't define_  
_Occasions, persuasions clutter your mind_  
_Incense and peppermints, the color of time..._

He felt alright, now. That was to say, his mind felt fuzzy, his body warm and his heart comfortably numb.  
Was this still his fourth beer or his fifth? He wasn't _drunk_ , exactly. Not _too_ drunk anyway. 

_Who cares what games we choose?  
Little to win but nothin' to lose..._

Roger glanced over at a table by the door, occupied by two girls who had come in some time ago. Tourists, clearly. They'd been giggling and pointing excitedly at a map for a while. He was currently trying to figure out what language they were speaking. It wasn't French or German. Dutch? Swedish? 

_Incense and peppermints, meaningless nouns_  
_Turn on, tune in, turn your eyes around  
_ _Look at yourself, look at yourself, yeah, yeah..._

"Are you really going to sit here and sulk all night?" 

Roger turned around, downed the rest of his drink and put the glass down in front of Carrie. Then he took a slow drag from his cigarette. 

"I'm not sulking," he informed her as he exhaled the smoke, eyes wandering to the empty glass, which she hadn't moved to pick up yet.

"Just don't fancy going home," he added, and watched her take the glass off the bar and out of sight. 

Even though Freddie had said that he was going to be at Brian's house - clearly, Brian was much better company, much _cleverer_ company anyway, bit more on Freddie's level, no doubt - Roger didn't feel like being at home. Inadvertently feeling like he was waiting for Freddie to come home. When apparently, Freddie was loathe to come home to him at all. 

_It's just that we've been spending too much time together..._

"... Can I get another one?" Roger asked, nodding at the beer taps and locking the thought of Freddie away. Focusing on the moment, the girl in front of him. "I'll pay, don't worry."

" _Should_ you have another one?" Carrie asked back, a small smile on her lips as she looked him over a little sceptically.

Roger clicked his tongue and put down his cigarette in the ashtray, then placed two fingers on the bar and slowly walked his hand over to her. 

"What are you doing?" Carrie laughed.

"Walking in a straight line," he told her with a lop-sided smile. "See? I'm not drunk, officer." 

She laughed even more at that. Roger's eyes followed his hand as he walked his fingers up to hers, resting on the edge of the bar. His fingers took a little leap onto the back of her hand and slowly continued up her arm. Carrie went quiet when he leaned forward onto the bar, fingertips coming to a halt at the bend of her arm. Roger looked up, meeting her gaze, the touch turning into a featherlight caress as he brushed his knuckles down along the inside of her forearm. 

"Have a shot with me." He said, pulling his hand away and picking his cigarette back up. "I'll pay." 

Carrie shook her head slightly, but she was smiling. 

"Are you allowed?" he asked, subtly nodding at the pub's owner who was currently serving someone else at the end of the bar. 

"Yes, but..." she bit her lip for a moment, considering it. 

Roger put his chin in his hand and gave her a cheerfully innocent smile. Scrunched up his nose. 

"Go oooon..." 

She rolled her eyes with a good-natured sigh. 

"What's your poison?" 

Roger inclined his head and gestured to her, almost a hint of a bow. 

"Lady's choice." 

When she placed two shot glasses on the bar, he broke into a winning grin and reached for his wallet. He watched her pour two shots of Vodka and nodded approvingly.

"What's the damage?" 

"Six bob and sixpence, that'll be, please."

Roger tutted quietly and paid up. Kensington prices, man. Carrie picked up her glass, meeting his eyes. 

"What are we drinking to?"

Roger picked his glass up as well and pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. 

"Good company," he said, then paused and shook his head a little. "No, scratch that. Let's drink to... a regular fucking life."

"If you say so," Carrie chuckled. 

A regular fucking life. Because that's what he'd want eventually, right? A regular fucking bloke like him.

They clinked glasses and knocked back their drinks. Roger felt it burn its way down his throat. A deceptive warmth. Artificial exhilaration.

His eyes landed on their hands, side by side on the bar, still holding their glasses. He moved on instinct, his body making the decision for him, really. His mind didn't care to protest.  
Roger let go of the glass and touched the inside of her wrist, stroking it lightly with his fingertips.

"What time d'you get off work?" he heard himself ask as he raised his eyes up to her. 

Carrie didn't reply immediately, just looked back at him with an unreadable expression. However, she wasn't moving her hand away, he noted with a smirk. 

"Eleven," she finally said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"And..." His fingers drew a slow circle and traced a line up across her thumb before pulling away. He took a last drag from his cigarette. "...around what time would you like to... get off?" 

He raised an eyebrow, still smirking, the cigarette held close to his lips. He ran his ring finger along the edge of his bottom lip as he let the smoke flow out through his mouth. A part of him wanted to feel bad, and didn't. Memories of her naked body danced in his inebriated mind. 

Carrie raised up her chin a little, suppressing a grin. "Very bold of you to assume I don't have plans." 

Roger stubbed out his cigarette, still holding her gaze. Not in the least deterred. 

" _Do_ you have plans?" 

"Maybe." 

"Cancel them." His voice was sultry. Outrageously confident in the promise it made. 

'Trust me, I'll make it worth your while...'

No longer able to keep from grinning, Carrie bit her lip and lowered her eyes. 

He'd rendered her momentarily speechless, he thought, and felt a rush of excitement. 

However, at that moment someone else at the bar demanded her attention and Carrie cast Roger a quick, intrigued glance before she walked away. 

'That's right', the smirk returned to his face as he watched her go, unabashedly enjoying the view. 'Think it over for a bit, love.' 

In that moment, Roger felt quite certain that things were going his way. That he wasn't going to go home alone. He wasn't going to go home _at all_. Later tonight, he was going to bury his face in her gorgeous tits. Eat out her pussy and drive her wild. Fuck yeah. Let her ride him like last time, until-

Until there wasn't a single fucking thought left on his mind because he didn't want to give a fuck anymore. 

_Please don't do this to me-_

He didn't want to give a fuck tonight.

His eyes were back on that cute pair of tourists, sipping their drinks and chatting away. He checked his watch. Just after eight. Three hours to go. 

The game was afoot. 

Roger turned back over his shoulder and managed to get the pub owner's attention while Carrie was busy. He ordered a whisky mac, paid for it and put his cap on. Then he took his drink and went to chat up some foreign lasses. 

They were Norwegian, it turned out. 

\- - - 

The train whistle was deafening. 

(He was going to die.)

"FREDDIE!"

Roger was too far, too far away, his hand just out of reach. He couldn't move. He wanted to scream and he had no voice.

He had no voice. 

"You think God won't punish you?" 

(He was going to die.) 

The speeding train was upon him and there was nothing he could do, nothing at all. It was all over. 

It was all over. 

Freddie woke himself up with a terrified yelp and opened his eyes in the dark, utterly disoriented and struggling with the weight that seemed to be holding him down, until he realised it was nothing but his own body's reluctance to obey him. 

Where was he? 

Where the hell was he? 

Brian's house, the answer finally came from a recess of his mind. _Shit_. Freddie sat up and kicked off the woolly blanket covering him as he realised that he must have nodded off on the sofa. Bless Brian, but why hadn't he just woken him up?  
The house was quiet. Nothing but the faint ticking of a clock and the sound of the odd car driving by outside. God, what was the time? Freddie raised his wristwatch up to his face and squinted at it. 

Two in the morning just gone. 

"Bloody hell," Freddie muttered and rubbed his face, glancing around the dimly lit room. There were precisely two options. Stay until morning or make his way home now.  
It didn't take him longer than half a minute to decide.  
He wanted out of these clothes.  
He wanted his own shower in the morning.  
He wanted his bed.  
But most of all, Freddie didn't want Roger to think that he hadn't come home because he was upset with him. 

The only person Freddie was upset with, was himself. 

He quietly got to his feet and started gathering his things, panicking briefly when he remembered that his bag and shoes were in Brian's room. Until he discovered them neatly placed next to the sofa. 

Bless Brian. Freddie was going to take him out to dinner the moment he came into some money again. 

Not ten minutes later, he had quietly snuck out of the door. 

There was a strong wind blowing outside, tearing at his clothes and ruffling his hair. The air felt chilly. Freddie shivered and considered trying to get a night bus. But by the time he'd found the right bus stop and then waited for one to come along, he might as well have walked it, he figured. He'd walked last night. It was only about forty minutes, anyway. Maybe less if he walked fast.  
However, ten minutes into the walk he was starting to question his decision when the wind picked up even more and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. 

\- - - 

It was always the way. He'd had no intention of actually getting anywhere with these girls, so of course they were all over him. The idea had been to remove himself from the bar for a bit so Carrie didn't think he was too keen. Roger figured being engaged in flirtatious conversation with two other girls made him far more attractive than if he'd continued to sit there gawking at her like a creep. However, now there were two fairly attractive, giggling Norwegians sidling up to him, hanging on his every word as if they actually understood more than half of what he was saying - which they clearly didn't - and he was almost beginning to reconsider.  
Because, bloody hell, if there was a chance of this turning into a ménage à trois type of situation...  
Then again, why take a chance when he could have what was sure to be a great lay? (Who knew what these Norwegians might be into, anyway? There had been that one time a French bird had smacked him in the face right in the middle of things and asked if he _liked_ that. Apparently 'Ow! What the hell?!' wasn't the reply she'd been looking for.) 

By the time last orders were called, Roger had learned a couple of phrases in Norwegian, which he was sure to forget by morning, and invited the girls to Smile's gig at Imperial on Saturday. They left just before closing time, promising to come see him play and breaking into whispers and giggles on their way out the door.  
Roger grinned, giving them a little wave through the window, and turned to the empty glasses on the table. His eyes wandered to the bar, where Carrie was busy with patrons paying their tabs and old regulars jumping at the chance to have a little chat with the pretty young lass behind the bar. 

He had stopped drinking after that whisky mac, mostly because he really couldn't afford another one, but also because he'd felt himself teetering on the edge between pleasantly tipsy and the room spinning. However, now he was starting to wish he could have another one. At this point it was either maintain his current level of inebriation or a nosedive into a drunken slumber. Roger suppressed a yawn and pulled out his wallet, deciding to have a thorough look through just in case it contained more money than he remembered. Maybe Carrie could be convinced to serve him something even though the pub was closing.  
His wallet was a mess, as usual. Phone numbers, shopping lists, receipts. Roger shook it all out onto the table. Might as well sort through it while he was at it.

He spotted it almost immediately, then, amidst all the rubbish.

And his heart gave a jolt. 

He reached for it without thinking, lifting the polaroid out of the pile and holding it up to his face. He'd forgotten it had been there, in his wallet, this whole time. The picture Tim had taken of him and Freddie, on the night they had moved into their attic abode. He blinked, staring at their faces in the picture. His own bright smile. Freddie's grin, his face turned toward him.  
Freddie had hated the picture. 

'Oh, dearie me! It won't do, take another one, darling!' 

Roger knew it wasn't because he'd come out a bit blurry, but because his teeth were too prominent in it. 

They looked happy. Not a care in the world. 

Roger stared at the picture and felt a painful pang of guilt. 

'What are you doing?' a small voice at the back of his head asked, the same voice he had been attempting to drown in alcohol all evening. 'Do you want to hurt him?' 

'No. Maybe. ... No.'

_I love you. Isn't that enough?_

'He won't find out. He'll never know.' 

' _You_ will know.' 

'Yes.' 

'And you're okay with that?' 

'Yes.' 

It wasn't the first time, after all. Jo, Jill... heck, even Eileen. 

'Once a cheater, always a cheater.' 

'...Yes.' 

'Proud of yourself?' the voice mocked, and this time, it sounded like his father. 

'Shut up, fucking shut up.'

Arguing with himself. Brilliant. And anyway, this was different. Wasn't that what Freddie had said? 

_This isn't like that._

This wasn't a relationship. Not to Freddie, it wasn't. 

It was fucking _nothing_. 

Roger stuffed the photo back into his wallet along with the papers, fighting back the surge of emotion, desperately willing himself to return to that place of numb indifference. 

"Time to head home, drummer boy." 

He looked up, taken off guard a little. He hadn't noticed her approaching. Carrie smiled at him as she collected the empty glasses from the table. Roger put his wallet away and looked around, realising he was the last customer left in the pub. 

Carrie stacked the glasses and put them aside onto the windowsill to clean the table top. 

"What happened to your friends?" she asked, giving him a sideways glance. 

"They left," he said simply, looking over at the bar. The pub's owner seemed to have disappeared to the back room. His eyes returned to her. She was leaning over the table, wet cloth in hand, wiping it down thoroughly. Her eyes met his for a moment. 

"I thought you might leave with them." 

"Yeah. I thought about that, too, for a bit," Roger admitted with a careless little shrug. "Didn't feel like it, though." 

Carrie finished up and straightened, one hand on her hip, looking down at him. 

"Thought I'd rather wait for you," Roger said quietly, and rose to his feet, leaning onto the table beside her. He let his eyes wander down to her lips and back up. 

"You're drunk," Carrie said quietly, but without reproach. 

Roger inclined his head and leaned in closer, pausing a moment to see if she would move away. 

She didn't. 

"And you're about to let me kiss you," he whispered, and closed the distance, softly pressing his lips to her mouth. After a brief moment, she returned the kiss. Slow and all lips, at first. A tender reacquaintance. 

Roger felt his heartbeat quicken. His hand found her waist, drawing her closer. He felt a cold sort of excitement. Joyless victory.  
Well done, Taylor. Still got it, then.

Their tongues found each other and he was thrown, for a second or two, realising how accustomed he was to the way Freddie kissed. 

Freddie. 

He was probably just getting back from Brian's house. Or on his way home. Expecting to find him waiting there. 

But Roger wasn't going to think about that. 

He was done thinking for the night. 

Carrie broke the kiss unexpectedly, and he instinctively followed her, but she placed a finger over his lips, their faces still so close their noses were touching. 

"Listen," she sighed, "Why are you doing this?"

Roger playfully bit at her fingertip and she moved her hand away, resting it on his shoulder. He looked at his hand on her waist and slowly moved it down to her hip. 

"Do I need a reason?" he asked and leaned close to her ear, his hand sliding around to her arse, giving it a squeeze. 

"I want some strawberry," he whispered. "That reason enough?" 

Her breath hitched a little when his lips moved down to her neck. She smelled so sweet. Like flowers. Like wild berries. Perhaps even strawberry, who knew? He couldn't tell.  
It was alright, now. He was losing himself in desire. The attraction was still there, still strong now that he was allowing it to be, because of course it was. Where would it have gone? 

"I need to finish up here," she said breathily, curling one hand around his shoulder. 

"We can't go back to mine," Roger murmured against her neck, and felt truly disgusted with himself, for a moment. He let the feeling seep into him with grim resignation. 

This was the real him, after all. Roger Taylor. Good face. Great shag. Not someone you'd want around for too long, mind. Bit annoying. Bit dull, once you got past the hip outfits and the jokes. Bit of an idiot, really.  
Definitely not someone you'd want for a _boyfriend_.

'Am I even sorry?' Roger wondered, lips finding hers again, his thigh pushing between her legs as they turned, slowly, bringing her up against the table. He searched his heart and found no answer.

The radio was still on, although turned down low, playing that old song by the Righteous Brothers. 

_Now there's no welcome look in your eyes when I reach for you_

Her soft curves felt great, pressed up against him. 

_And you're starting to criticise little things I do_

Both of his hands had found her arse now, pulling her into him. 

_It makes me just feel like crying_

"We can go to mine," she murmured against his lips, hands roaming his chest. 

_'Cause baby, something beautiful's dyin'..._

"Yeah," he agreed, and kissed her once more, deep and greedy, grinding his hips against her before he pulled away.  
"I'll wait outside." 

"See you in a minute," Carrie promised, and gave him a slap on the arse when he turned to go. Roger looked back over his shoulder and winked, a suggestive little smile on his face which disappeared as soon as he had turned away.  
Bugger, he really wished he hadn't run out of fags. 

_You lost that lovin' feelin'  
Now it's gone, gone, gone..._

\- - - 

It was a moment of startling clarity. The sort of clarity which only ever seems to come in the dead of night, in the absence of all daytime distractions that left no space for it. 

Freddie's footsteps echoed down the empty street, the rumble of thunder moving in closer. The wind had died down and the air had that damp smell. Wet dust. Lightning was flashing in the dark clouds somewhere behind him.

But Freddie wasn't worried about the thunderstorm. Not when with every step he took, the urge to run increased. 

Run _home_ , to the one person he loved the best, and had hurt the most. 

Yes, he was afraid. 

But his worst fear, Freddie had realised, was not what might happen if they continued down this path together. 

It was _not being together._

He couldn't see a future for them, and yet, he didn't _want_ a future without Roger in his life, and he didn't know where that left him. Didn't know what to do. But he knew he needed to tell Roger the things he hadn't said, should have said, wished he had said instead. And there was no wrong or right time for it. 

The time was now. 

The wind picked up again, colder than before and carrying a light drizzle of rain. The storm was moving in. Freddie didn't mind. It felt right. Cathartic, somehow. 

Let the rain fall. Let it wash away yesterday's fears. It was quite literally a new day. 

Friday the 13th, Freddie thought, and laughed into the wind and the storm, crossing the road to the front door of the house where his boyfriend was waiting for him. 

He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, only slowing down toward the top floors. There was light falling through the crack underneath their door, and Freddie frowned, fishing out his keys. Surprised and immediately guilt-stricken that Roger was still awake, at three in the morning. Had he been waiting up for him all this time?

When Freddie opened the door he found him sitting on the bed they usually shared, still wearing his shoes and a leather cap in his hands, staring up at Freddie with a startled, wary expression on his face. His face was blotchy, eyes red-rimmed and tired. He looked like he'd been drinking. Like he, too, had only walked in a short while ago. Freddie didn't care where he'd been. Here they both were, and that was all that mattered. 

"Hi," Roger said weakly, his voice rough. "I didn't think you'd come home." 

Freddie closed the door and brushed his wind-swept hair back, dropping his satchel bag by his feet. 

"We have to talk," he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the words ready to burst out of him in a torrent of emotion. 

"Yeah," Roger rasped and put the hat aside onto the bed, sitting up a bit straighter. He sounded sad, dejected. But Freddie was going to change that. He was going to patch up the wound he had left and heal it with a thousand kisses. 

Freddie crossed over to him and sank to his knees, cradling Roger's warm hands between his own cold fingers. Roger almost pulled away from him, brows knotted in confusion, uncertainty, surprise. But Freddie didn't let him. 

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice hitched. "I'm sorry about the things I said." 

Roger made a strangled sound. "Freddie-" 

"I want to be your boyfriend," Freddie uttered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I'm yours," He lifted Roger's hands to his lips, kissed his fingers. "I'm yours... And you're mine."

When he raised his gaze up, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes, Roger was looking down at him with an expression Freddie couldn't quite decipher. His eyes gleamed with raw emotion and unshed tears. He drew a breath and looked at their joined hands, lifting his fingers up to Freddie's cheek. 

"That's all I wanted to hear," he whispered, and swallowed hard, running his thumb over Freddie's cheek. "I wish you'd told me sooner." 

"I'm sorry," Freddie repeated with a sigh, pulling himself up and climbing onto Roger's lap, one leg on either side. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his lips to his mouth. Yearning to be closer still, so close he didn't know where he began and the other ended. "I was scared," he murmured between kisses which Roger returned hesitantly. Until the younger man pulled back, an anguished expression on his face. Freddie tilted his head, searching his eyes. "What's the matter? What's wrong, dear?" 

Roger gave a tiny shake of his head, hugging him close and pressing his face into Freddie's neck. 

"I'm _sorry_..." 

"No..." Freddie said gently, smoothing his hair over, embracing him tightly in return. "You've nothing to be sorry for." 

Roger made a noise somewhere between a dry chuckle and a sob, clinging on to him as if he never meant to let go again. "I love you... I _love_ you, Freddie." 

"I love you, too." Freddie told him, smiling as he closed his eyes. "No matter what." 

Outside, the wind howled, lightning tearing across the sky, and the heavens opened with a clout of thunder. Rain lashed down on the window above them, and it felt a little like the world was ending. 

But that was alright, Freddie thought. Because today was the beginning of something new. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say one thing, and one thing only: All may not be quite as it seems right now.
> 
> ... 
> 
> On a mildly related and much happier note, I HAVE QUEEN TICKETS FOR NEXT YEAR IN LONDON! :D


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying high and feeling low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, all your comments and discussions over recent chapters have blown me away! It means so much to me, I can't tell you. Also, if you aren't doing so already, follow me on Tumblr! The account is a-froger-epic and occasionally I post funny shit. ;) 
> 
> I don't usually do this, but in this one case I will say, it will probably enhance your reading experience if you actually listen to the music mentioned in this chapter. Namely, Hurdy Gurdy Man by Donovan. 
> 
> I feel like this entire chapter is a giant reminder that Roger is essentially still a teenager.
> 
> Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta JMLaurence!

\- - - 

Roger awoke with a start, his mouth incredibly dry, his head pounding and his mind immediately wide awake. He looked up at the skylight. Dawn was just breaking. Around five in the morning, Roger thought, and closed his eyes with a sigh, hoping that perhaps he would just doze off again straight away. No part of him was willing to face grim reality just yet. 

But no. Sleep had abandoned him. 

He desperately wanted to get a glass of water but didn't want to move, so as not to wake Freddie, who was peacefully asleep with one arm and one leg wrapped around him. 

Roger listened to his slow breathing. Wiggled his fingers a little against Freddie's waist. 

Bloody hell, his head really hurt. 

But his heart hurt worse. 

A familiar sense of shame filled his chest, constricting it, the knowledge of what he had done twisting his insides into knots. 

Roger glanced down at the top of Freddie's head, resting on his shoulder, and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling in dismay. 

Jesus. _Fuck_. 

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up mortified at the memory of the night before, and the things he had considered _a good idea_ in the spur of the moment and under the influence of a few too many drinks. 

Drunk Roger could not be trusted to make good decisions. Unfortunately, only sober Roger was aware of that fact. Then again, most of the time drunk Roger was a hoot and the life of the party. Everyone loved him. Roger loved him, in those moments. But last night, there had been no party. There had only been a whole lot of disappointment and heartache, mixed with a whole lot of booze. A disaster waiting to happen. 

Well, it had happened, Roger thought miserably. 

He had royally fucked up. 

\- - - 

The bus to Clapham Junction wasn't very crowded, but they made their way to the top deck anyway, choosing the seats at the very back of the bus where the lights were low. 

It was always awkward, this bit. Fleeting glances. The waiting. How do you put desire on hold? The knowing. Knowing where they were going and why. There wasn't much left to say, at that point. Not with most people.

Carrie was no exception. 

She made it better, just a little. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, one hand on his knee. Roger leaned his head against hers, running his fingers up and down her thigh in return. He tried to fight the drowsiness as the bus ride threatened to rock him to sleep. 

"I'm glad I ran into you again," Carrie said, after what felt like a long time, and turned her face into his neck. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Her lips found the side of his neck and roused him from his drowsy state with slow, tantalising caresses. "I like you, drummer boy." 

Roger didn't reply. Instead, he turned his head and brought a hand up to her face, pulling her into a kiss. 

Kissing was better than talking. 

\- - - 

"Hey Fred!" 

Freddie whirled around with a grin and gave a theatrical bow in passing, silver chains and pendants clinking around his neck. 

"I'm back, darlings!" he called. 

The lads from the record stall hooted. 

It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning and Freddie felt on top of the world. Technically, there were two weeks of term left, and one final art project left to do. But Freddie wasn't worried about that. It required doing, not thinking, and just like music, lines and colours and vivid images came to him much easier than words.   
He was free. He was _done_. His future was a terrifying, unmapped land, but for the moment, he wasn't worried about that, either.

He smiled when he unlocked the stall. He hummed a tune as he watched the fairy lights illuminate the space. He breathed in the musty smell of old fabric, ran his fingers over fur and silk and felt entirely at one with himself. 

It was a shame Roger couldn't join him this morning, but he was practicing with the band for their gig tonight. After a quiet spell, Smile were now securing gigs left, right and centre as end of term parties at colleges and festivals in the smaller towns around London were coming up. 'Be good to create a bit of a buzz', Tim had told him the other day when they had crossed paths at Ealing Tech, 'before the record comes out.'

Freddie spent the morning rearranging everything from top to bottom and chatting with unbridled enthusiasm to everyone who so much as threw a curious glance at his little shop, earning himself a very decent amount for one morning's work in the process. He closed up for twenty minutes at lunch time, in order to run out and get a bite to eat, and as he was returning Freddie spotted a girl standing beside the stall. She was glancing around the market, absently running her fingers through her long, blond hair which hung loosely around her shoulders. She was looking the other way when he approached, and didn't see him coming. 

"Can I help you, dear?" Freddie asked with a smile, drawing her attention as he stopped in front of the door, keys in hand. 

She turned to him and her eyes grew wide. 

"Oh," she said, returning the smile hesitantly. "Hello. I- I was just- waiting for a friend." She glanced around the market and took a step back. "I don't think he- I don't think they're coming, though." 

Freddie narrowed his eyes a little, head tilted to the side. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it at all.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" he wondered, stopping her just as she was turning to go. 

She looked at him a little oddly then, still slowly moving away, as though she had suddenly realised that she really had somewhere else to be. Where in the world had he seen her before? The girl, however, shook her head with a polite smile. 

"I don't think so," she murmured, and left in a hurry. 

As Freddie watched her go, he saw Alan walking toward him from the same direction and gave him a cheerful wave. Alan raised his hand in greeting and threw a sideways glance at the blonde as they passed each other, then looked back over his shoulder after her. Freddie rolled his eyes while he unlocked the door. 

"Knows how to pick 'em, doesn't he!" Alan chuckled as he approached. 

"Who?" Freddie asked, opening the doors up. 

"Roger!" Alan laughed, nodding in the direction he had just come from. "I wouldn't mind havin' her join me on _my_ lunch break!" 

Freddie re-emerged from the stall, having plugged in the fairy lights, a bemused frown on his face. 

"I'm sorry, dear, I don't have the foggiest idea what you're talking about." 

"Wasn't that his new missus?" Alan asked casually. "I've seen 'em pop off for lunch together a few times. Well, nevermind, I'm not 'ere for the goss. Just thought I'd see how you were doing!"

"Oh..." Freddie stared at the spot where the blond girl had just disappeared into the crowds. "I- I'm good..." 

Alan proceeded to make a bit of small talk, asking about his plans for the future, wondering if they were going to keep the stall. Freddie answered curtly, if politely, struggling to listen to the man. Roger's new... _missus_? Had that girl been waiting for Roger? She had to have been, Freddie realised, why else would she have been so surprised to see him instead? But why wouldn't she have said so?   
Alan returned to his own shop and Freddie was left frowning, and thinking, and frowning more still. 

'So she's a friend,' he reasoned. That was probably how he knew her, he had probably met her before at some point. After a gig, or on a night out. Just one of Roger's friends. Maybe she worked close by? Freddie knew Roger didn't spend all his lunch breaks alone, he knew Roger had his own friends at the market just as Freddie did, too. 

'Except Roger isn't friends with girls', a part of his mind pointed out, 'not usually _just_ friends, that is.' 

_Roger's new missus_. 

Freddie shook his head with a little snort. Of course Alan, that old gossip, would be making assumptions. The very idea... 

Ridiculous.

Freddie dismissed the whole thing and went about his day, cheerfully helping customers and charming his way into their wallets, but at the back of his mind the question lingered nonetheless. Who _was_ the mysterious blonde? And why was there a strange, sinking feeling in his gut? 

The market died down a good hour before closing time and Freddie got out his sketchbook, absently doodling what was turning into a fairylike type of creature in modern day fashion when suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks. 

_"He's an artist, too. Didn't I mention?" Roger was sipping his beer, looking ever so pleased with himself. "Very talented fingers, all around."_

_The girl stood beside him, twirling a lock of her fair hair._

_"That's so cool... I'd love for someone to draw me..."_

Freddie very nearly dropped his pencil when it all came back to him. He lowered the sketchbook and looked up, staring into space, mouth agape. 

_The house party. The Scottish lass whose accent he could barely understand. Too much alcohol, too many people crammed into one small flat, but no one really minded-_

_And Roger._

_Roger and the blonde, getting all but indecently acquainted in the armchair beside him, tongues so far down each other's throats they wouldn't have noticed if the house had caught on fire around them._

Freddie felt a little as if the ground had been pulled out from under him, all of a sudden. It was _her_. 

It was definitely her. 

But it couldn't be, he thought, trying to make sense of it in his mind. After all, she didn't remember him. It couldn't be, because they had never seen those girls again after the party. 

Well, that was to say, Freddie never had.

A horrible feeling overcame him for a moment. He shook it off, refusing to entertain the thought that this was anything other than a misunderstanding. It _had_ to be. There was an explanation, and he would hear it the moment he asked Roger about it tonight, and then they'd both laugh and laugh at the ridiculous notion that Roger had been seeing some girl in secret this entire time. 

Because Freddie knew Roger. Knew him like he knew his own heart, and there was _not a chance_ -

Not a _chance._

Right? 

\- - - 

Carrie's room was, somehow, both not at all and yet exactly what Roger had expected. Colourful posters, some bands but mostly psychedelia, decorated the walls and even the wardrobe. Fairy lights and a large Indian print fabric hung like a canopy above a mattress on the floor. Next to the 'bed', a rainbow coloured peace sign had been painted on the wall. _LOVE_ \- was written across it. A collection of figurines - elephants, turtles, a white swan - graced one corner of a desk, beside an Indian Buddha statue with half a dozen colourful necklaces hanging from it. More jewellery hung from a corner of the wall mirror. There were two stacks of books on the floor, and between them a collection of records. The record player sat on a low coffee table pushed up against the wall. The faint scent of incense hung in the air. 

It was easily the grooviest room he'd ever seen. Roger felt painfully uncool just standing in it, wondering what she must have thought of his room. 

"I like your digs," he said, picking up an intricately carved green turtle and giving it a closer look.

"Me too," Carrie laughed, flipping her hair back as she gave herself a quick look over in the mirror. "That's why I've yet to decide if I want to move out." 

She excused herself to the bathroom and Roger took off his shoes and wandered around, taking it all in. There was nowhere to sit but the mattress, and that didn't feel right just yet. He had sobered up a fair bit, enough to question how the hell he had ended up here and what the hell he was doing. The bloke who'd made shameless sexual innuendos at the bar didn't feel like him right now.

Now that it was _real_. 

Before his doubts could overwhelm him, Carrie returned with a couple of glasses and a half full bottle of white wine. Roger gratefully accepted. 

"Cheers," she said with a smile, clinking glasses with him. 

"What are we drinking to now?" Roger asked, figuring it was her turn to say. 

Carrie shrugged with a little smile. "To inner freedom." 

"Okay," Roger chuckled, because he didn't have the faintest idea what exactly that meant, but he desperately wanted to down this drink and return to a state of inner not-giving-a-damn. 

Huh, he thought, maybe that _was_ what that meant. 

Roger gulped down half of his drink and went to the bathroom which Carrie shared with another two rooms down the corridor. When he returned, the smell of incense hit him straight away, much stronger than before, and he noticed the incense burner on the desk had been lit. Carrie was kneeling by the record player. 

"Do you like Donovan?" she asked, placing the needle down on the record. 

"He's alright," Roger shrugged, picking up his glass and finishing off its contents before he poured himself a bit more. "I like Sunshine Superman."

Carrie closed her eyes and tilted her head back, swaying to the soft psych folk track as it started. 

"I'm obsessed with this song," she told him. "Do you know it?"

_Thrown like a star in my vast sleep_   
_I opened my eyes to take a peek_   
_To find that I was by the sea_   
_Gazing with tranquility..._

"I've heard it before," Roger sipped his wine, feeling himself relax back into a pleasant buzz. He leaned against the desk and watched the way her long hair flowed with her movements, let his eyes travel from her neck down to her breasts. 

_'Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man_   
_Came singing songs of love..._

Roger tried not to snicker, because for all her very serious enjoyment of the music, he thought the chorus sounded like a children's ditty. 

Carrie opened her eyes and stood up, her sultry gaze meeting his. He no longer felt like laughing, all of a sudden. She walked over to him and picked up her glass, gazing at him over the rim of it as she took a sip.

"Do you know Mellow Yellow?" she asked. " _They call me Mellow Yellow_..." 

"Yeah," Roger replied, watching her lick her lips as she put the glass down.

"Do you know what it's about?"

"Getting high?" Roger guessed.

Carrie laughed.

"It's about a vibrator... actually," she informed him with a smirk.

Roger felt himself blush and his pulse pick up a little. Something about the very casual way in which she just came out with that rather inspired the imagination. 

"Really?"

Her smirk widened. "Electrical banana?"

"Right..." 

His glass was empty again, somehow. But that didn't matter now. The urge to touch her was strong, and so he did, laying a hand on her hip and sliding it up underneath the edge of her blouse. Stroking the soft skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Carrie slid her arms around his neck as he bent down to kiss her. 

His mind went quiet and desire took the reigns. 

\- - - 

Saturday morning's rehearsal was a bit of a disaster. Roger was off his game, he knew he was. He didn't need Tim to tell him that. The bickering started halfway through and then things just escalated, until they eventually decided to break for lunch early because the hostile atmosphere was becoming unbearable. Roger was the last one to leave the room and groaned when he found Brian waiting outside for him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

"I'm _sorry_ , alright?" he told him, reaching for his cigarettes. "I'll sort myself out by tonight, I promise." 

However, if he had expected reproach, there was none. They'd all had a bit of a go at each other just now, and apparently Brian had decided that was over and done with. 

"I know." The guitarist shrugged and fell into step with him, heading for the exit. "Where do you wanna get lunch?" 

Roger sighed, rubbing one of his shoulders. His whole body felt tense, no matter how much he'd tried to shake it out. 

"Nowhere," he replied. "Can't afford it." 

Brian shot him a sideways glance. "I can spot you a few bob if you need." 

"It's fine," Roger muttered, and lit his cigarette as they stepped outside. "I'm not really that hungry." 

Twenty minutes later they were both scoffing down chips in the cafeteria.

"Is Fred coming tonight?" Brian asked as he mopped up the salt in the bowl with his last chip. 

"Yeah," Roger replied quietly, stirring ketchup with the end of a chip, a frown on his face. He'd just remembered the two girls he had invited to their gig. Christ, he hoped they wouldn't show. He'd told Freddie that he had unexpectedly ended up at a house party on Thursday night, so he didn't need anyone contradicting his carefully fabricated story. The whole thing was just about driving him out of his mind. There was a constant underlying anxiety in the pit of his stomach which hadn't eased off since he had woken up on Friday morning. He was frankly glad that Freddie had been gone most of Friday, and had come home a little tipsy after an evening of celebrations with the Ealing crowd.

"I didn't even spend any money!" he'd announced, throwing himself onto his bed with an elated smile. "Everyone was feeling very generous..." 

With his dissertation finally over and done with, Freddie seemed like a different person. Or was it that he seemed a little more like himself again?

Either way, Freddie, too, had felt very generous last night. And Roger had never felt worse about a blowjob. Returning the favour didn't make it any better. Freddie nuzzling against him as they lay in bed after, murmuring words of love and calling him the world's best boyfriend, made it roughly a million times worse. 

When Roger looked up from his food, Brian was contemplating a banana which he had retrieved from his bag. Roger stared at it for a long moment and then sighed deeply, lowering his face onto his arm on the table. 

"Look," Brian said flatly, "If you're not going to talk about it, could you please stop with the dramatics?" 

Roger grunted and didn't move for a while. 

Talk about it. Fuck. If only. 

"Are you going to eat those?" 

Instead of a reply, Roger blindly pushed the bowl with his leftover chips in Brian's direction. Talk about it, indeed. 

He raised his head, propping it up on his hand, but didn't meet his friend's eyes.

_Could_ he talk about it? 

Could he talk about it to _Brian_? 

"It's..." he started, and lowered his voice, glancing around the cafeteria. It wasn't as if anyone was in earshot, but still. 

"It's about Freddie," Roger said quietly. 

"You don't say," Brian replied through a mouthful of chips, unimpressed. 

Roger shot him a partly questioning, partly affronted look. 

"Sorry," Brian threw another chip into his mouth and waved his hand, urging him to carry on. "Well?" 

Roger drummed his fingers on the table for a long moment, biting his lip. 

"Alright, first of all," he said, "promise you won't judge." 

Brain regarded him with an intrigued expression on his face. Then he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. 

"Alright. I promise I won't judge." 

"Okay." Roger leaned back as well, folding his hands in his lap and staring down at them, eyebrows knotted. "Long story short, right? I mean, you don't really need all the details..." 

"Just tell me." 

"Well... we had a fight, the other morning- fuck me, I can't believe I'm telling you this," Roger snorted with nervous laughter, but Brian stayed silent and calmly waited for him to continue. 

Somehow, that helped. 

"Um," Roger swallowed, picking at one of his nails. "He said we're not in a relationship, so-" 

"Are you?" 

Roger glanced up at his friend and back down, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I mean, yeah, I thought we were," he murmured under his breath. "Or something like that anyway."

"Okay," Brian said simply, and started peeling his banana. 

"Anyway," Roger leaned forward onto the table, bouncing his leg, suddenly restless. "It was like he was saying, what's the point, you know? Like it's not a real thing... 'cause... well, _you know_." Roger hoped Brian did know, because he wasn't going to elaborate further. 

"So I went and got pissed and, um... ended up going home with this girl I know." 

He could feel Brian's eyes on him and looked up, meeting his gaze. 

"Hmm." Brian scratched his head, eyebrows raised. 

Roger gave an apologetic sort of shrug. 

"When you say you went home with her...?" 

"Yeah," Roger sighed, rubbing at his collarbone. "Well, I mean..." 

\- - - 

Carrie was sitting on the edge of the desk, her legs around his hips. Her blouse was on the floor beside them and so was his shirt, her hands stroking his shoulder blades as he nipped and licked his way from her neck down to her collarbone, one hand cupping a soft, pert breast through her bra. 

"Shall we, uh... move this to the bed?" Roger asked, coming back up to look her in the eye. Brushing his thumb over a puckered nipple through soft lace. "I mean..." he whispered between kisses. "this works, too..." 

Carrie hummed with a smile and let go of him, playfully pushing him away. 

"Bed." 

Roger took a couple of steps back, watching her with a curious smile while he lowered himself onto the mattress and scooted back, leaning against the wall. Carrie slid off the desk and unbuttoned her jeans, much to Roger's delight, slowly sliding them down her legs. He watched her, biting his lip and fervently wishing he'd got rid of his own jeans before he sat down. They were awfully tight right now. When she finished, she bent down and retrieved something from beneath her desk. Roger frowned a little, wondering what she was doing. Carrie came back up holding what looked like a small, wonky green glass vase. He honestly didn't have a clue what it was, at first. She cast him a cheeky smile over her shoulder, reached for a tin on the desk and opened it, taking a pinch of the contents.

"You smoke, right?" she asked casually, stuffing the top of the metal tube protruding from the glass bulb, and Roger finally cottoned on. 

That was a bong. She was holding a bong. And she wasn't talking about cigarettes.   
Roger was torn between marvelling at how insanely outta sight this was and feeling more than a little out of his depth. He'd only ever seen someone get a bong out once before, at a party, and he hadn't even seen it up close then. It had been much bigger than this, though, he was sure. This one looked delicate and, well, _ladylike_. 

"Uh..." he cleared his throat, remembering that she had asked him a question. "Yeah." 

If by _smoking_ she meant a few drags from that joint which had made the rounds at the party the night they had first met and an experimental puff or two, one time, when he'd been around it before but had in all honesty been too scared to inhale properly. If she meant that, then... 

Sure, he smoked. 

Roger, of course, realised that she didn't mean that at all and the truthful answer should have been a resounding 'no'. But like hell was he going to admit that to a gorgeous, half-naked girl holding a bong.

Roger watched her light the - pot? weed? hash? were those all the same thing? - and inhale deeply. The smoke swirled around inside the glass, and the water bubbled. It looked kind of neat. 

"It's Columbian," Carrie said, exhaling slowly, "Would you like some?" 

"Yeah," said Roger. "... Sure." 

Well, what else was he going to say? 'No, thanks, I'm good'?

Carrie made a beeline for the record player and placed the needle back at the beginning, before she crossed over to him. 

"You gotta listen to it again," she said, and straddled his lap with a grin. Roger ran his hands up the outside of her thighs to her hips, watching the water bubble as she inhaled once more. And then, before he quite knew what was happening, her hand cupped the back of his neck and she pressed their lips together, blowing the smoke into his mouth. He inhaled it without thinking, feeling it scratch at his throat and trying not to cough. Their lips separated, a smile on Carrie's face, her fingers in his hair.

H o l y shit.

Everything about this was sexy, sensual and more than a bit unreal. Roger exhaled, steeped in the unmistakable, sickly sweet aroma of the drug. This night was some mad, otherworldly adventure he wouldn't soon forget. He couldn't wait to tell Fred- 

Oh. Yeah... no. 

The awfulness of that thought caught up with him halfway through, and he quickly pushed it aside.

Carrie pulled back and held the bong out to him. Roger took it and copied what he had seen her do, filling his lungs with more stinging smoke and holding his breath for a few moments. This time it did make him cough, a little. 

Carrie leaned back, placing the bong down on the floor beside the mattress, and then her hands were in his hair again. Their lips found each other and Roger closed his eyes, wondering how this was going to affect him, or if he'd notice. If he was perfectly honest he hadn't really felt all that much the other couple of times. 

But oh _wow_ , he thought, after a few moments. Carrie was right. That song really was pretty fucking amazing. It was like Donovan was singing right into his ear and it was _wild_. The beat pulsed through him. He could feel it reverberating inside his skull. The electric guitar felt - felt? yeah, _felt_ \- like ocean waves, running through him. He could _see_ them, with his eyes closed. 

Carrie broke the kiss and leisurely moved on to his neck. Roger tilted his head back, gazing up at the fairy lights on the ceiling.

They were twinkling brightly. Like stars. He wanted to tell her, because bloody hell, would you _look_ at those lights? It was just like staring out into space. 

However, his tongue had become heavy and his jaw immobile. Roger blinked slowly and realised he couldn't bring himself to speak. It didn't really matter though, because fucking hell. He could feel 

his

_skin_. 

Every inch of it. At once. 

Her lips on his neck were searing hot, setting his nerve endings on fire in the best way imaginable. And when she kissed him again, it robbed him of his breath, every sensation so heightened it was overwhelming.   
His fingertips were hyper sensitive, reading the patterns of her lacy underwear like braille. He had no idea what the message said, but it made perfect sense. 

Time trickled in slow motion, sand floating through an hourglass in zero gravity. He was inside his body and then again he wasn't, watching himself fumble with the clasp of her bra. This wasn't usually so difficult, only his fingers felt clumsy and wouldn't obey him. 

Carrie pulled away with a chuckle, reaching back to unfasten the clasp. Her melodic voice echoed in his head. 

"You alright there?" 

"Yeah," he heard himself say, not entirely sure for a moment that he'd really said it or that his voice was really his own. It didn't sound like his own. 

"I'm _great_." 

There was laughter bubbling up in his throat and he wasn't sure what was so funny, but Carrie seemed to get the joke. They embraced, giggling between messy kisses, hands roaming each other's bodies. Her breasts were so _soft_. He could feel her heat through the layers of denim and cotton separating them, her hips grinding into him, and suddenly that was all he could think about. Chuckles turned into moans, muffled against each other's lips, as the myriad of sensations whirling in his mind became increasingly overwhelming. The back of his head tingled, a mild dizziness sweeping over him when he closed his eyes. 

Lying down seemed like a good idea, so he pulled her down with him, and then he was on top of her. Everything was pleasure, and sound, and every sensation took him over completely. But beneath it all the unwelcome dizziness persisted, and as they rolled over, the back of his head hit the mattress and the world _flipped upside down._

The wave of nausea hit him so hard Roger all but pushed the girl off him, pulling himself up to sitting with a gasp. His eyes focused on one of his discarded shoes on the floor and clung on to it, trying to keep his surroundings from spinning or dissolving into darkness, or whatever it was they were trying to do. 

"Whoa," Carrie came up beside him and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

Once again, his vocal cords refused to cooperate and so he simply shook his head a little. 

Shit, he most definitely wasn't okay. Everything was too much, all of a sudden. The music, echoing in his head. He couldn't bear it. His chest felt tight. He was too afraid to move, too afraid to so much as blink for fear of losing his grip on reality.   
In fact, Roger realised with a growing sense of helplessness and panic, he couldn't move. Even if he'd wanted to, he _couldn't do it_. 

Holy fucking _shit._

He couldn't move and his brain was _on fire_. 

\- - - 

Brian was trying to contain his laughter. 

Roger glared. 

"I'm sorry," Brian wheezed, "You said don't judge, you didn't say don't laugh!" 

"It wasn't fucking _funny_ , Brian." Roger informed him, head in his hands. 

"Sorry," Brian cleared his throat. "So what happened?" 

\- - - 

"Roger?" 

Somewhere at the edge of his mind he was aware of Carrie, getting to her feet and throwing on her blouse.   
She left the room for what felt like an excruciatingly long time, but he hadn't moved an inch when she returned. 

"Drink." He heard her say as she placed a glass into his hand, her voice concerned. "It'll help." 

That was all well and good, Roger thought, only he still couldn't bring himself to move and was pretty sure he might well throw up if he tried to drink anything at all right now.   
It took her a while to coax him into drinking a few sips of coke, and longer still before he finally regained some control over his body. 

\- - - 

"I honestly don't really remember," The young drummer tugged at a strand of his hair, staring out of the window of the cafeteria. "I got out of there, sat on a bloody park bench in Clapham for an hour or so, probably, just waiting for it to pass." He shook his head with a snort. "Walked home the whole way, no idea where I was going. And when I finally got home Freddie shows up ten minutes later and-" 

Brian raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And...?" 

"And he took it back," Roger said quietly. "What he'd said before, about it not being... a real thing." 

"So you _are_ -" 

"Yeah, I guess we are." Roger quickly cut in. 

They were quiet for a few moments, glancing around the cafeteria which was slowly emptying out as lunch time ended. 

"I gather you've not told him any of this then?" Brian asked. 

"... No." Roger admitted and looked over at his friend, eyes large and vaguely desperate. "What do I do, Bri? Do I tell him?" 

"Well," Brian shrugged, thinking it over for a moment. "Would you want to know if it was the other way around?" 

That was a good question. Roger frowned and realised he didn't know the answer, because he genuinely couldn't imagine it happening. 

"No?" he replied, raising his eyebrows a little. 

Brian didn't look convinced.

"It just seems selfish, you know?" Roger frowned, slumping back in his chair. "I don't want to tell him just to make myself feel better. 'Cause it doesn't matter, at the end of the day." 

"Doesn't it?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"Because it didn't mean anything and I lo-" Roger broke off and cleared his throat, staring down at his hands. "I like him more than I like her. I mean... Would you tell Chrissie if it was you?"

Brian tilted his head, thoughtful eyes studying the ceiling. 

"I don't know," he sighed. "If I didn't I'd be terrified that it might come out, and she'll find out, but not from me." 

Roger crossed one leg over the other, biting his lip. He had some experience with that scenario. It was the worst. However, telling usually didn't go over much better. And he also _hadn't_ been found out before. How would Freddie find out, anyway? 

"I don't know what to do. I've already lied about it now." 

The wind outside was chasing the clouds across the sky, casting moving patches of sunlight onto the ground and the surrounding buildings. 

'I don't want to hurt him,' Roger wanted to say. But the truth was that he didn't want Freddie to _hate_ him. And he was afraid that he might. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now we know what happened! 😬


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The damage is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done it again. I had to split this chapter into two because it got too long, but all this is necessary and I couldn't make it any shorter.
> 
> As always, I thank you all for your support! I love you all!
> 
> Thank you to my fantastic beta, JMLaurence. 💕

\- - - 

"Dearie me! Who died?" 

Freddie closed the door of the classroom-turned-dressing room behind him and looked from Tim to Brian, to Roger, all of whom appeared to be rather serious and much too deflated considering they were about to perform.   
However, at the sight of him the three of them visibly perked up, latching on to the fresh, cheerful energy he had brought into the room. Especially Roger positively transformed. 

"Been a long day," he said with a stretch and pushed himself up from the chair he had been reclining in, bounding over to Freddie with newfound vigour and a smile, while Brian and Tim waved and greeted him. 

"What's it looking like out there?" Tim wanted to know. 

"Busy," said Freddie, waggling his eyebrows. "Better make it a good one, darling." 

Tim nodded, casting a quick, pointed look at the back of Roger's head which didn't escape Freddie's attention. 'You heard that, yeah?', it seemed to say. Well, that explained the tension in the room, Freddie figured. Roger and Tim had probably been at each other's throats, just for a change. Those two could really set each other off, from time to time. 

"How was the market?" Roger asked, hopping up to sit on a desk in front of Freddie, his back to the others and his expression warm and affectionate in an unguarded way that was usually reserved for private moments. 

"It was good! Great, in fact." Freddie replied, smiling back, "But we really need to get some new threads in."

"Yeah, I was thinking that, too..." 

They chatted about the stall for a bit, agreeing to try and get a hold of that bloke again who had sold them a whole bunch of old theatre and circus costumes once. Freddie had also spoken to a couple of girls from Ealing Tech on Friday night who designed their own clothes and were keen to try and sell them. 

However, all the while, the thought of the girl who had stopped by the market today niggled at the back of Freddie's mind. Even looking at Roger now, Freddie couldn't quite shake the memory of her in Roger's lap, Roger's hand under her skirt, his lips on her neck.   
It wasn't that he was jealous. Not exactly. That would have been silly, after all. This was all in the past, before anything had ever happened between Roger and himself. But Alan's words didn't help. Neither did the fact that Freddie still hadn't come up with a satisfactory explanation for it all which did not involve Roger wilfully keeping something from him. And if that were the case... 

Freddie didn't want to think about why that would be the case. 

But he had questions. Only, right now was not the time to ask them. 

"I'll see you after, yeah?" Roger was saying, still smiling his bright, affectionate smile which warmed Freddie's heart and made him long to touch Roger when he knew he couldn't. 

"You'll see me in the front row, darling," Freddie replied, raising a coquettish eyebrow, and tore himself away from his boyfriend before the urge to kiss him became too strong. 

"Are we gonna _hear_ you in the front row?" Tim asked with a smirk, just as Freddie had turned his attention to him and Brian. 

"Not if you put in a great performance, you won't," Freddie grinned, hiding his teeth behind his top lip, and leaned over in passing to give Tim a high five. 

Not one to hold a grudge for long, Tim had forgiven Freddie for heckling him a long time ago, and they had often laughed about it since. 

"I don't think we'll ever be good enough to meet your standards, Fred," Brian teased with a chuckle. 

"Oh, if anyone can do it, _you_ can, dear!" Freddie skipped over to the tall guitarist for a brief hug and a pat on the back. "Have a good show, Brimi."

"Thanks," Brian beamed, and nodded toward the door as he added: "Chrissie and Anne are already out there somewhere, by the way." 

"Very well then, I'll see if I can find them."

And with that Freddie wished them all the best one final time and took himself off to the lecture hall where Smile would be performing this evening to try and secure himself a good spot. Fortunately, the girls were there, right at the front. Chrissie spotted him and waved, and Freddie joined them.   
Their company was a welcome distraction from his own thoughts. 

There was a part of him which still ached, like an old battle injury which had never healed up right, whenever he came to a gig or a rehearsal. Whenever he stopped to think about Smile. About their record deal. About the fact that he wasn't, and was now never going to be, part of that. 

Instead, he was in the audience. With the girlfriends. How befitting it was, really. 

If only they knew.

_You'll always be our number one fan..._

It hurt, and Freddie let it. What else could he do? Tim, Brian and Roger were his friends, first and foremost. And he wanted them to succeed. Especially Roger, since Freddie knew perfectly well how much the young drummer had his hopes set on this. How, just like himself, he held the unwavering belief that he was destined for something _more_. Something extraordinary. 

Only, Roger was already well on his way, at not even twenty years old. And Freddie was not, and felt like time was slipping through his fingers. The thought that perhaps Freddie was fooling himself, that he didn't have what it takes, that the only remarkable thing about him were, and would always remain, his hideous teeth, plagued him from time to time. Less so, he had to admit, when despite being part of the cause for his self-doubt Roger was also its relief. Because being with Roger made him content. _Happy_. It made him forget about everything else, sometimes to a worrying extent. 

_'It's like it takes you over, completely. All that happiness.'_

Brian's words had stuck in Freddie's mind and he had mulled them over a fair few times since. 

_'And you lose yourself a little...'_

Freddie didn't want to lose himself. But he also didn't want to lose what he had with Roger, and he hadn't quite solved that conundrum yet. 

"Here we go!" Anne excitedly bobbed up and down beside him, auburn ringlets bouncing around her freckled face. It was the first time she had come to see Tim play.

Smile took the stage, small as it was, and Freddie cheered with the rest of the crowd, pushing aside his ruminations, determined to just enjoy the show even while quietly imagining what it might be like if he was up there with them. 

"Thank you very much!" Tim addressed the crowd, exchanging a grin with Brian. "Are you all _doin' alright_?"

The lecture hall erupted in more cheering. The majority of the crowd was familiar with the band and their repertoire. 

"Yeah! That's what I like to hear!" Tim shouted into the mic. "We're Smile! I think most of you know us... This is Brian on guitar, I'm Tim and I think some of you ladies in the audience know our drummer, Roger!" 

Tim pointed to a group of girls in the centre who whooped and laughed excitedly, and Freddie watched Roger twirl a drumstick and wave at the crowd with a cheeky smile as he sat down. 

"And if you don't, well..." Tim glanced back over his shoulder at Roger, who threw his head back and laughed heartily, in on the joke. "You might get to know him later, the night is young!" 

Many girls in the audience laughed, cheered and clapped, and Freddie's smile slipped a little. 

He wasn't sure why. This was a running joke. Brian and Tim had girlfriends, but Roger was unattached as far as they were concerned. As far as everyone was concerned. And not only that, but he was _Roger Taylor_. Smile's resident ladies' man.   
The first time Freddie had attended one of their gigs, back in February, Roger had quickly left their company in favour of a group of girls. Not much later, he was nowhere to be found and it wasn't until Freddie was leaving that he had caught sight of him in a corner, a girl in his lap and one hand up her blouse. Freddie had quickly learned that this was no rare occurrence.  
Until recently, of course. But that was something only Freddie knew and that was the way it should be. Let everybody think nothing had changed. As long as everyone believed that Roger was shagging a different girl every other weekend their secret was _safe_. 

So why, then, was there an uneasy feeling stirring in his gut all of a sudden at the obvious display of female enthusiasm for the man Freddie knew was secretly his?

An image of the girl at the market flitted through his mind. Pretty eyes. Long hair swaying as she walked away. Short dress and high boots. 

'Because what if he's not?' A quiet, uncertain voice whispered at the back of his mind, and for the first time, Freddie was struggling to silence it. 

The crowd moved with the music, and Freddie stood still, his eyes on the man he loved, completely in his element. Unruly strands of dark blond hair across his face, keeping time with graceful ease. As the first song ended Roger squinted into the audience and found him, a brief smile crossing his lips. Freddie smiled back. 

Roger winked. 

The gig went well. The audience was friendly and, frankly, easy to please. Everyone's mood was much affected by the end of term vibe. People wanted to let loose, to finally forget all about college and have a good time. Freddie was trying hard to be one of them, but by the time the show was over, he knew he had to find Roger and talk to him because he was driving himself crazy and it was no good trying to put it off any longer. 

As the lecture hall slowly emptied out, Freddie and the girls made their way toward the classroom where the boys would be getting changed. They spotted Tim and Brian in the corridor, chatting to a small group of Brian's mates from college. As Chrissie and Anne went to join their boyfriends, Freddie slipped past almost unnoticed, figuring that now might be a good time to catch Roger on his own if he had gone ahead to get changed by himself. 

Freddie was right. 

When he entered the room, Roger was shirtless, a heap of his things on the desk beside him. He was still sweaty from the show and busy wrapping a plaster around one finger, but broke into a wide grin immediately when he saw Freddie. 

"Hey!" 

"Hello again," Freddie smiled back, albeit a little hesitantly, as he walked down past the rows of desks toward him. "Lovely show, darling." 

"Yeah?" Roger looked pleased with himself. "It was, wasn't it. Didn't think it would be, rehearsal was awful. But that's always the way, I guess." 

"Yes, I suppose..." Freddie said absently, twisting the clef pendant around his neck between his fingers. 

There was a moment of silence. Freddie was trying to think of how to begin, but Roger realised something was up before he could. 

"You alright?" he asked, closing the distance between them and gently running his fingers down Freddie's arm. 

"Um," Freddie pulled his lip over his teeth and raised his eyes up to him. He took a deep breath. "Do you remember that party... at Paul's house? The night you got signed?" 

Roger took Freddie's hand, not without a wary glance at the door, and lightly intertwined their fingers. Stroking Freddie's hand with his thumb. 

"Yeah? What about it?" 

A part of Freddie didn't want to say anything, all of a sudden. Because if the ridiculous, awful suspicion at the back of his mind was true, if it was _true_ , he didn't know how he would cope. But it wouldn't be, he told himself. It _couldn't_ be true. 

"Do you remember the girls we were with… ?" he heard himself say, his voice a little on edge. 

Roger's expression didn't change. In fact, it froze in place for a few seconds. His hand stilled. And then he blinked, and broke into a smile, tilting his head with a confused little frown. 

"Uh, yeah. Why?" 

"One of them came by the market today," Freddie said, holding his gaze. "The blonde. She was looking for you, I think." 

"Huh. Really?" Roger gave a high-pitched laugh, biting his lower lip. His free hand reached up, fingers tracing a line along the side of his neck beneath his fair hair, down to his collarbone. A dreadful, sinking feeling took hold of Freddie's stomach, because he knew Roger's nervous ticks, and Roger was suddenly and blatantly _nervous_. 

"What'd she say?" Roger asked with an almost comically puzzled expression. Freddie pulled his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Not much," He swallowed. "However... Alan seemed to think that she was your girlfriend." 

"What. That's... hah!" Roger laughed, again. Only this time it sounded desperate. 

Freddie was overcome by the strong urge to pinch himself and wake up from this bad dream. 

"Rog...?" he uttered, raising his eyebrows. Mentally willing Roger to stop acting so _suspicious_ and tell him it was all a big misunderstanding.

The younger man averted his eyes, running his fingers over his lips. "I... can explain..." 

_I can explain_. 

Freddie's stomach went into freefall, his voice faint when he spoke.

"Please do." 

He took a step back and leaned against the nearest desk, feeling like he needed to sit down. Feeling like he wanted to press his hands over his ears and run from the room, and at the same time still holding out hope that whatever the explanation was, it wasn't what it looked like. 

There was a very long, very tense pause. Roger sat up on the desk across from him and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, chewed on his bottom lip, picked at the plaster on his finger. 

" _Roger_ ," Freddie pleaded. 

"I'm not sure where to start," The younger man eventually admitted, glancing up at Freddie for the briefest moment. The look in his eyes was so guilty it hurt. It pierced Freddie's heart through and through. 

"Start by telling me she's not your _girlfriend_ ," His breath hitched as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat and couldn't, drawing his arms tighter around himself. 

"Course not!" 

To Freddie's immense relief, Roger looked genuinely taken aback by the suggestion. 

"It's not like that," He shook his head vehemently. "It's not like that at all, Fred, I swear. She's... she's just a friend." 

_Just a friend._

Freddie snorted, finding that hard to believe given the way Roger was acting. "Really." 

Roger opened his mouth and slowly closed it again. 

"Okay... yeah," he sighed, and bowed his head. "We did... we did hook up... a couple of times," he mumbled, "after the party. But that was _before_!" he stressed, just as Freddie was about to open his mouth. "Before you and me- That- that was when you weren't talking to me." 

Freddie blinked. _That_ week. He remembered it well. He remembered how absolutely fucking _awful_ it had been for him. And he remembered Roger telling him that he had done nothing but think of him and how much he had missed him, winning his forgiveness and his heart. Big, sincere puppy dog eyes and all. The same pathetic _please-forgive-me_ look he was giving him right now, in fact.   
But apparently, for all his heartfelt apologies and sweet words, Roger hadn't been too broken up about it to get his dick wet. Good to know. 

"And I didn't see her again after that, I promise. Freddie, I _promise_." The younger man fidgeted, fingers nervously ghosting over his collarbone again. "But... then we ran into each other a couple of weeks ago and- uhh..." 

Roger paused, frowning at the floor. Freddie felt sick. 

"Oh my god." His hands flew up in a helpless, panicked gesture as he tried to turn away but found nowhere to go, because it was impossible to physically escape the raw agony he felt inside at the confession which he was suddenly _absolutely sure_ was going to follow. "Oh my _god_ -"

"No!" Roger hopped off the table and reached for his hands, pulling them close and cradling them close to his heart, even as Freddie tried to pull away. "No no no, _no_ \- Fred- listen, _listen_! It's not what you think! It's not like that. Please, LISTEN." 

Freddie stilled, staring up at him. 

"I didn't- Nothing _happened_ then," Roger's voice cracked as he spoke, stumbling over his words. "It was just- It was just that I, well- I told her about us, and I- I didn't know how to tell you because I thought you'd be mad. I didn't know how to explain." 

"You _told her_?" Freddie breathed in disbelief. "Why the _hell_ would you-" 

"Cause she knew! She already knew!" Roger squeaked defensively, sounding every bit like a school boy caught red-handed, proclaiming 'It wasn't me!'. 

"She'd sort of known since the party and she just, she figured it out, you know! I mean, _girls_ , they're- I don't know, she just _knew_! And there was no one else I could _talk_ to," he rambled, clutching Freddie's hands tightly and not letting him get a word in edgewise. "In fact, the opera record was sort of her idea and the spaghetti, too, and-" 

" _What?_ " 

Freddie stared at him open-mouthed, completely thrown by this turn of events. It wasn't what he had feared a minute ago, no, it was somehow far _stranger_ than that. He was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Roger had apparently not only told someone about them but _discussed their relationship at length_ with some girl he barely knew. What in god's name-

Suddenly, the door swung open. 

Freddie turned back over his shoulder sharply, realising that he had all but completely forgotten that somebody might walk in at any given moment. And there was Brian, looking up at them as he closed the door behind him. And here was Freddie, and Roger, who was _shirtless_ , holding his hands against his chest and standing much too close. 

"I'm sorry, this is private," Was the first thing that came out of Freddie's mouth while he pulled his hands away as if he'd been burned, and immediately panicked because _that_ hadn't come out right. Oh no, oh _god_. 

"Oh," said Brian, as he read the room and became aware that he had walked in on something he wasn't meant to witness. "Sorry."

"I mean- we were just-" Freddie stammered, trying to move himself away from Roger in a nonchalant sort of way and failing entirely.

Brian's eyes snapped to Roger, his look questioning, almost insistent, and Freddie heard his boyfriend give a resigned sigh. 

"It's fine," he murmured quietly, shoulders slumping. "Brian knows."

Freddie froze, and then turned to Roger slowly, his heart pounding in his throat.

"Knows _what_ , dear?" he asked pointedly. 

Roger met his eyes for a moment but couldn't bring himself to hold his gaze. 

"He knows about us," His voice was barely louder than a whisper. "I told him." 

Freddie exhaled a shaky breath, backing away, and turned his back on both of them, his head in his hands. 

"You told him," he repeated incredulously, and turned toward Brian, not quite brave enough to look him in the face. "How long has he- How long have you known?" 

"A while," Brian admitted, taking a few steps toward them. "Fred, I'm sorry. Roger told me not to tell you and, frankly, it's really none of my business..." 

"Roger, what the _fuck_!" Freddie whipped around, fixing his boyfriend with a fiery glare. "Is there anyone you _haven't_ told?!" Shock was rapidly turning to anger. "Who _else_ knows?" 

Freddie paled, suddenly struck by an awful thought. "Oh, my god- _Does Tim know_?!" 

Because if Tim knew, there was a chance people at Ealing Tech knew. 

Oh god. 

_Oh god._

"No, he doesn't," Roger started, but Freddie was barely listening, his mind frantic with worst case scenarios of his irredeemable social demise. 

"How could you...? How _could_ you!? Everyone's going to find out-" 

" _NO ONE_ knows!" Roger shouted, loud enough to snap Freddie out of his panic, then checked himself, running a hand through his hair. "Look, no one else knows! It's _fine_ -" 

"It's most definitely _not fine_ ," Freddie hissed through gritted teeth. 

" _No one else knows_ ," Roger repeated firmly. "Okay? No one except Brian and Carrie." 

"Who's Carrie?" Brian asked, turning to Roger with a curious frown. The blond drummer gave him a look. 

"Oh, what, the girl from Thursday night? You told _her_?" 

"Thursday night...?" Freddie echoed, also frowning, while Roger stared at his bandmate with a mixture of disbelief and impotent fury. 

"...Ah," Brian said quietly as realisation dawned on his face. "I'm sorry, I thought you told him." 

"I was _going to_ ," Roger muttered, his jaw tense. 

"I'm so sorry," Brian repeated, visibly cringing. 

Freddie threw up his hands. 

"Well, clearly no one fucking well tells me _anything_!"

"I'm sorry," Brian said, this time to Freddie, looking very much like he meant it, too. 

Freddie just shook his head and looked over at Roger. 

"Funny how Brian is the one apologising! _You_ -" His eyes narrowed as he closed in on the younger man, pointing a finger to his chest. Roger took a step back, lifting up his hands defensively. 

And then the door swung open again. 

Everyone froze in place, including Tim, who had just walked in, holding hands with Anne. 

" _Not_ a good time," Brian told them under his breath. 

"Gosh," Tim raised his eyebrows, exchanging a look with his girlfriend, and carefully backed out again, pulling the door shut.

Freddie turned back to Roger, trying to remember what he had been about to say. There wasn't a clear thought left in his mind.  
He planted his hand on his hip and gestured in Brian's direction. 

"What was he talking about? What _else_ haven't you told me?" 

"So, I'm gonna..." Brian pointed to the door, carefully edging toward it. Unfortunately, no one paid him any mind and he hesitated, one hand on the door handle. 

"Carrie's the girl from the party…" Roger began. 

"Yes, I gathered that, dear! I'm not an _idiot_ ," Freddie snapped with a flick of his wrist, cutting him off. "The one who's _just a friend_ , is she?" 

Roger swallowed and met his questioning gaze with immeasurably sad, guilty eyes. "She _was_..." 

Freddie's face fell. He shook his head weakly, staring at the younger man, his heart back in his throat.

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Erm..." Brian cleared his throat, drawing attention to the fact that he was, as it happened, still in the room. "I'll be outside," he cracked the door open gingerly. "if you need me."

"Yeah, _thanks_ , Bri." Roger muttered darkly. 

Brian disappeared with a last quiet 'sorry', and Freddie felt mortified more than anything. But thinking about Brian would have to wait.

"Roger." 

"I wasn't at a friend's house... on Thursday." Roger murmured. "Freddie, I'm sorry."

The look on his face cut like a knife, because it said more than his words. 

"No," Freddie whispered, averting his eyes as he lifted a hand to his mouth. 

"I went to the pub where she works and..."

" _No._ "

"I got pretty drunk... and I went back to hers." 

Freddie made a noise somewhere between a sob and a desperate chuckle, and slowly lowered his hand, biting down on his lips. 

"So you fucked her?" he asked, after a moment, gazing into the middle distance. "While I was at Brian's house?" 

"I didn't," Roger whispered, his tearful voice a stark contrast to the Freddie's cold, cutting tone. 

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Freddie spat, making him jump, and turned back to him, eyes dark as the night and full of fury. "Don't fucking LIE TO ME! YOU FUCKING _LIAR_!" 

He shoved him hard, sending the younger man staggering backward, and it was all he could do not to take a swing at him.

"I'm not lying!" Roger caught himself on the back of a chair. "I'M NOT! We got close, but it didn't happen, alright?!" 

"No!" Freddie shouted back, but he could no longer muster anger as the agony of betrayal drowned it out, leaving him wounded to the core. "It's not _alright_ -" 

"I didn't mean- You know- You- _you_ said," A hint of indignation flashed across Roger's face, mingled with hurt. "You said this wasn't _anything_ , Freddie!" He gestured at the two of them. "That's what you told me. Do you have _any idea_ how that made me feel?" 

Freddie blinked, blind-sided by Roger's words. 

"That's not what I said-"

"It's what it _sounded_ like!" 

"I said I _loved_ you," Freddie gasped through tears, no longer able to keep them at bay. 

Roger shook his head, swallowing hard. "Didn't feel like it." 

They looked at each other for a long moment, standing no more than six feet apart, and yet the distance felt endless and insurmountable.  
Freddie didn't know what he felt anymore. He didn't know what to think anymore. Roger's expression softened, eyes glistening with tears. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm not saying it's your fault, it's not. I was upset and I did a stupid, shitty thing and... I'm sorry." 

Freddie gave a sad chuckle, glancing around the room. "For what? For not telling me about this girl, or that you told her about us? Or for telling Brian about us without telling me, or- or for Thursday night?" he snorted, "Or for lying to me about _that_?" 

Roger stared at the floor, crestfallen. "All... all of it." 

Drawing an uneven breath, Freddie nodded slowly. 

"It's a lot." 

"I know."

His eyes stung. Freddie dabbed at the corners, fanning himself with one hand. 

"Were you even going to tell me if Brian hadn't...?" 

"I was," Roger sniffed, "I _was_ going to tell you." 

"When?" Freddie chuckled again, wiping his face on the back of his hand. "Brian knew. You told _him_ but not _me_? Why would you tell him in the first place, I just- I don't understand. Why would you tell _anyone_ -" 

"He's my friend," Roger murmured, glancing up at him. 

Freddie met his gaze. "He's mine, too. And you've both been lying to me for god knows how long. Talking behind my back about things that- that are _private_ , Roger." 

"I'm sorry," Roger repeated with a helpless shake of his head. "I don't know what else to say, Fred. I'm really, really sorry." 

Freddie didn't know what to say either. The right words for the way he felt inside did not seem to exist. It was too much. He pressed his hand to his chest, trying to physically soothe the pain as they stood in silence for a long time, not looking at each other. 

"It's a lot," Freddie repeated, his voice hoarse, lips pulled tightly over his teeth.

Roger nodded, arms folded over his bare torso and head bowed. 

"I don't know how I feel," Freddie said, one hand over his mouth, numbly staring at Roger's drumsticks on the desk beside his discarded shirt. There was a quiet sniff, followed by a shaky intake of breath. 

"...Do you hate me?" 

Freddie bit back a sob, shaking his head. "No," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you." 

Roger all but gasped with relief, taking a step toward him. 

"But right now I wish I didn't," Freddie added, tensing his jaw as he looked up at the fair-haired man. Roger stopped in his tracks as though Freddie had slapped him across the face. 

"I'm sorry," he uttered, and swallowed a quiet sob, rubbing tears out of his eyes. "I love you. I'm so sorry. It didn't mean anything, you know." 

Freddie laughed mirthlessly. "Sounds familiar." 

Roger gave him a puzzled frown and Freddie wanted to laugh and laugh and _weep_ , because bloody hell. Roger didn't even remember. 

"Brighton?" Freddie said softly, arching an eyebrow, and watched confusion turn to pained embarrassment. 

"Oh," Roger mouthed, no longer looking him in the eye. 

"You forgot." Freddie whispered, a crooked, sad smile on his lips. 

"That's..." Roger ran his hands over his face, looking for an answer. "That's just it, though. It meant _nothing_ , it didn't matter..." 

"To _you_." 

Freddie shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "I need to think." 

"Okay." Roger said meekly. 

"I'm going home," Freddie sighed, drawing a few deep breaths.

"Okay," Roger nodded, making no attempt to stop him. A part of Freddie wanted him to. Wanted Roger to wrap his arms around him and tell him not to leave, wanted him to whisper comforting words and tell him he loved him, over and over. Until it meant something again.

But Roger didn't move and so Freddie backed away and turned to go, drying his face on his sleeve and lowering his head to hide his puffy eyes as he left the room. Quick strides took him down the corridor and out through the doors. Away. Away from the man he loved the best, who had hurt him the most. 

\- - - 

Brian leaned in when they found themselves beside each other and out of earshot at the pub, some time later. 

"How did it go?" he asked, keeping his voice down. 

Roger sighed, still nursing his first pint. For once, he didn't feel like drinking. It was just as well, because he couldn't afford to, anyway. 

"I don't know," he said glumly. "It was awful. Fucking awful. The _worst_." 

Brian nodded slowly. "Well... then it can only get better from here." 

"I guess." Roger snorted, and had the sudden, overwhelming urge to hug his friend tightly, but didn't. 

"I'm sorry," Brian added, after a moment. "about earlier, I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry," Roger reached for his cigarettes, shaking one out of the pack. "It's not your fault. Or your problem." 

He lit his cigarette and looked over at Brian. 

"Did you tell people anything? No one's brought up Freddie and Tim hasn't said a word..." 

"Mhm, yeah." Brian gave him a sideways glance in return. "I said it was private and to leave you alone." 

"Right," Roger smiled weakly. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." 

The only reason Roger stayed out was to give Freddie space. He couldn't imagine that Freddie wanted him around right now. But as it was nearing closing time, he couldn't bear trying to pretend that he felt like socialising any longer. So he said his goodbyes and slowly started making his way home. However, standing on the tube headed for Kensington, it occurred to him that perhaps Freddie wasn't the only person who was owed an apology.

His timing was perfect. It was just after eleven when he arrived outside the Red Lion. Roger waited outside, leaning against a bollard, a hand in his pocket and a cigarette between his lips. Not five minutes later, Carrie stepped out of the door and started walking before she looked up in his direction. The sight of him brought her to a halt, a surprised, uncertain expression on her face. 

"Roger." 

"Hey," he took a last drag and flicked the cigarette away, slowly walking up to her. 

"Hi," she said quietly, tugging at a strand of her hair, her usual confidence lacking. "Look, I'm sorry, I thought you'd be there and not him..." 

Roger shook his head. "I know, don't worry. You didn't know." 

It was an easy mistake to make, on her part. Freddie had spent precious little time at the market in recent weeks, so Roger could hardly blame her for assuming today would be no different.   
Carrie relaxed a little and met his eyes. 

"I didn't know what to say, I don't think he recognised me," she told him. 

Roger gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah... no, he recognised you." 

Carrie bit her lip, tilting her head, reading his expression. "I'm sorry. Did I make it worse?"

"No," Roger sighed, scratching at the stubble on his cheek. "I did that. Listen, Carrie, I..." 

"Oh dear," Carrie smiled sadly, her hazel eyes dark in the dim light. "Do I get a goodbye, this time?" 

He laughed, caught out by her astute assessment of the situation. 

"I'm sorry," Roger sighed and shuffled his feet, surprised at himself, because he didn't think he was capable of feeling sad anymore after everything he had already gone through tonight. "I like you, too. I wish-" he broke off, a crooked smile on his lips. "I wish I was less of an idiot." 

"Just in general?" Carrie chuckled, and he did, too. 

"Yeah, in general."

They glanced at each other and sighed. 

"So..." 

"So I guess I won't see you around," Carrie said quietly, still smiling. 

"I can't," Roger uttered regretfully. 

She nodded, meeting his eyes again, and gave a little shrug. "In another life."

"Yeah," he laughed, hesitating a moment, and then pulled her into a hug, breathing in her wild berry scent. "Take care."

"Take care," Carrie whispered as they pulled apart and Roger turned, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the road toward home without looking back. 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll say, Brian is right. It can only get better from here...


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia **(please read or you might be confused)** :  
> \- The song 'Liar' from the first Queen album was written "during Ibex times" (Wikipedia says 1970, but that's wrong because Freddie was in Ibex in 1969, so he must have written the song in '69). It was originally called 'Lover' and was re-written later. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's still around living this story with me! I know it's all a bit heavy and heartbreaking at the moment, but they gotta get through it, and they will! I look forward to your comments. :) Be kind, it's my birthday today! ;)
> 
> Thank you ever so much to my wonderful beta, JM Laurence.

\- - - 

The lights were still on when Roger arrived back at his and Freddie's flat. He could tell by the strip of light underneath the door. The lights in the stairwell always timed out before he could reach the top, leaving him to climb the last set of stairs in dark. 

Every step filled him with more apprehension as he braced himself for whatever he might find. 

He didn't know what he dreaded more.  
Freddie angry. Freddie sad.  
Freddie not talking to him. 

His chest felt tight when he opened the door, carefully letting himself in. 

Freddie was in bed with his headphones on, his cassette player beside him, a cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other. His notebook was open in front of him and he brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at him as Roger closed the door. 

"Hi," Roger said quietly, hesitating where he stood. Trying to appraise Freddie's mood. He didn't look upset. Not exactly.  
No, Roger thought, Freddie's face was a mask of cool indifference. And that, he realised, was worse. 

The raven-haired man took a slow drag from his cigarette, ashed it in the ashtray on the nightstand, and slowly turned back to his notebook. Without a word. Without taking his headphones off. 

Alright. Fair enough. 

Roger sighed and kicked his shoes off. When he dropped his bag beside his bed, his eyes fell on a few neatly folded shirts on his pillow. They were his, but Freddie had appropriated them a while ago, which was fine, because they shared clothes all the time. His heart gave a painful jolt as he picked them up, unsure of what to do or what this meant. He glanced over his shoulder, but Freddie had his back turned.  
Roger put them away with his own clothes and went to have a shower.

When he returned, Freddie quickly disappeared into the bathroom and then proceeded to turn in for the night as soon as he came back, making a point of pulling his duvet all the way up to his ear. 

Roger sat on his own bed for a while, his heart in a million pieces, staring at Freddie's huddled frame under the covers. 

"Freddie," he uttered in a half whisper. 

But there was no reply. 

Eventually, Roger got up and turned off the lights.

\- - - 

The room went dark. As dark as it ever was, with the moonlight and the city's glow falling in through the window.  
One hand clutching the covers tightly, the other tucked underneath his head, Freddie stared at the kitchen cabinets and didn't move. 

He couldn't. Because he knew that if he did, if he turned around and faced Roger, there was a good chance he'd be crying again. And he refused to cry anymore. 

He closed his eyes, pulling his lips over his teeth and biting down on them. 

If he turned around, there was a chance he would _break_. Throw himself into the other man's arms as if none of this mattered, tell him to never speak of it again and beg Roger to love him, just _love_ him the way he said he did.  
But there was another part of him which could not forgive so easily. And it wasn't really about the girl. Freddie had turned it over and over in his mind, and while the thought of Roger in someone else's bed made him feel sick, he _knew_ him, knew how Roger was with girls and believed that she had meant precious little to him. What hurt more were the lies, and what Freddie felt was a complete and utter disregard of his wishes. 

What went on between them was a very private matter. It concerned no one else. It was their _secret_. 

But clearly, Roger couldn't keep a secret to save his life. And this time, he couldn't blame it on one too many drinks. There was no foolish slip of the tongue, Freddie thought bitterly. Roger had deliberately told others of the nature of their relationship and then lied to his face about it, perfectly aware that Freddie would have been rightfully upset, had he known. 

How could he trust Roger after this? 

How could he ever trust him again?

The thought of Brian and Roger discussing things Freddie didn't want _anyone_ to know about him behind his back filled him with such a sense of shame and humiliation it was unbearable. 

As sleep slowly overtook him, a part of him wished he wouldn't have to wake up again. 

\- - - 

To say that Sunday morning was awkward would have been a vast understatement. Roger might as well have been thin air. Freddie wouldn't even look at him.  
The silence was unbearable, but Roger couldn't bring himself to be the one to break it. Much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could think to say that would make this any better. Or any easier. 

'I'm sorry,' didn't cut it. He knew that. But he _was_. He was profoundly sorry, much more so now when the damage he had done was evident, and he hoped Freddie knew that. 

It wasn't until Roger had got dressed and sat back down on his bed with a cup of tea that Freddie acknowledged his existence. Roger had pulled out the money he had left from the week and was counting it to see if there was enough for rent in the end, an expression of tense concentration on his face. Perched on the edge of his own bed, Freddie minutely turned his head in Roger's direction, watching him for a few moments. Roger could see it out of the corner of his eye, and lost count once, and then once again when Freddie rose from the bed and went to fetch his wallet.  
Then the raven-haired man dug some money out of a box he kept in the second drawer of the night stand, beside his socks, and carefully counted it out. 

"It's okay, I've enough," Roger informed him quietly, after a moment.

Instead of a reply, Freddie came over to him and handed him all of his money safe for a small handful of coins. 

"Here's my half," he said, his tone aloof. "For this week and last." 

Roger looked up at him, meeting his eyes. 

"You don't have to pay me back." 

"I want to," Freddie said simply. 

Roger raised an eyebrow at the handful of coins Freddie had left, which didn't amount to much, and made no attempt to take the money he was being offered. 

"Don't be daft, what about food and stuff?" 

Freddie quickly pocketed the change and rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Roger, take the money. It's not up for discussion." 

"No." Roger said, feeling stubborn. The shirts, the money - clearly Freddie was determined not to _owe_ him anything anymore. But there was no debt to be paid off as far as Roger was concerned. He didn't want Freddie to try and return what he had willingly and unconditionally given. They looked after each other and looked out for each other, and no one was keeping score. That was how this worked, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

"Fine," Freddie huffed, folding up the notes he held in his hand. "Then I suppose I'll just use this to pay rent." 

"Fred," Roger started hotly, but then stopped himself. Was this really what he wanted? More fighting? Weren't things bad enough already? 

He capitulated, lowering his eyes. "Alright, do whatever you want."

Freddie hesitated, still lingering beside his bed. For a moment Roger hoped he might say something about last night. Anything, really. Just to give him some kind of indication of where they stood now. 

"Are you going to the market?" Freddie asked instead. 

"Yeah," Roger looked back up at him, "I mean, I was going to. Are... Are you coming?" 

Freddie looked conflicted. To be fair, Roger wasn't sure if that was a good idea, either. They'd be stuck there all day, stewing in awkward silence, or else fighting, or Christ knows what. 

"I should." Freddie didn't sound so sure. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, tugged at a curl and flicked his wrist back. "Well then, I suppose I am coming." 

"Okay," Roger said quietly, and gulped down the rest of his tea. 

The morning was every bit as uncomfortable as he had imagined. They walked to Kensington Market together, because it seemed silly not to, smoking in silence. They put on a cheerful front for the customers and everyone who knew them. Freddie was shockingly good at it, Roger noted. They stuck to one side of the stall each and busied themselves unnecessarily with whatever they could find. Freddie polished several pairs of shoes. Roger read an entire Sunday newspaper, not really taking anything in. At one o'clock sharp Freddie announced he was going for lunch, which was a relief, and Roger hated that it was. 

Everything about this sucked. Brian was full of shit, Roger thought. He couldn't see how this was going to get any better. 

He'd ruined it. 

He'd gone and ruined everything. 

\- - - 

A light drizzle coated the outside of the telephone box. Freddie frowned at it, annoyed that he hadn't taken an umbrella when the sky had already looked so grey and gloomy this morning. The phone was ringing on the other end of the line, and he pressed the receiver closer to his ear, covering his other ear with two fingers to drown out the street noise. Finally, Brian's flatmate picked up. 

"Trevor speaking."

"Hello, Trevor." Freddie leaned against the side of the telephone box. "Is Brian there, please?" 

"Yes, I'll get him. Just a minute." 

"Thank you kindly." 

Freddie chewed his bottom lip, watching the traffic outside. Watching the pavement turn dark grey under the rain.

"Hello?" 

Freddie hesitated a moment, his stomach tight with nerves. "Brian."

"Fred?"

"Yes, dear." 

"How are you?" 

"I'm fine. And yourself?" 

"Yeah, good."

Freddie leaned his head back against the glass, gazing up at the roof of the telephone box. 

"So..." Brian started. 

"I need to speak with you," Freddie finally said. 

"Of course. Would you like to come over? I'll be home until-" 

"No." Freddie shook his head. "Please, just listen."

"... Alright."

God, this was awkward. Freddie exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He'd gone over this speech again and again in his head all morning. 

"Alright, darling, let me preface this by saying that I'm not upset with you. You haven't done anything wrong. In fact, I'm extremely sorry about yesterday-"

"Freddie, you really don't have to be-" 

"Please hear me out." 

"Right, okay." 

"I'm extremely sorry and embarrassed about yesterday, and I would be grateful to you if we could just forget this whole dreadful business." 

Brian was quiet at the other end of the line, so Freddie continued. 

"I just," he cleared his throat. "I would hate for this to get in the way of our friendship-" 

"Fred-" 

"Let me finish."

"No, I need to say something."

Freddie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yes?"

"Listen, as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to apologise for. Roger's my friend, you're my friend, nothing's changed. I don't... I told Roger, and I'm telling you now. It doesn't make a difference to me, none of it. I won't stop being your friend or think any less of you for-" 

"I don't want to talk about it!" Freddie blurted out, rather more harshly than he had intended. "Sorry," he sighed, "I'm sorry, and thank you, but I just- I don't want to talk about it. Do you understand me? I'm sorry that Roger told you, because he shouldn't have, and I don't know what he told you, and- and frankly, I don't _want_ to know," he quickly added, lest Brian should decide to talk about it _more_. "So, please... I want you to promise me that we'll never speak of it again."

There was a moment's silence. "Alright. I promise." 

"Thank you," Freddie swallowed, glancing down as he ran his fingers along the cord of the phone. "I... I have to go now, the money's going to run out in a moment." 

"Can I just say one more thing?" 

"Of course, dear." 

"He didn't mean to tell me, you know. Rog. It was after a messy night and... anyway, I know he didn't mean to. If it helps." 

"It does," Freddie said quietly.

"You know, he cares a lot about you..." 

"Alright, I'll see you soon."

"Okay. Take care, Freddie." 

"And you, darling. Bye." 

Freddie put the receiver down and collected his change, not necessarily feeling better, but at least a little more in control of his own life. He looked down at the coins in his hand and pursed his lips as he thought about the arts supplies he needed to buy. And rent. And the tube fare. Nevermind food. He was so immeasurably fed up with not having two pennies to rub together. But the idea of owing anyone money - especially Roger or his parents - was unsupportable. 

Looking out at the high street, Freddie reached for the treble clef pendant around his neck and twisted it between his fingers. It appeared silver, but he knew that it was in actual fact white gold. A present from his grandmother when he had left Bombay, never to return. She had always adored it when he had played the piano for her. 

"I'm sorry, nanima." Freddie mouthed as he stepped out into the rain. 

\- - - 

By the time Freddie had been gone for almost an hour, Roger had decided that when he returned, they would _have_ to talk about it. Whatever that meant. Even if it meant Freddie telling him that he couldn't forgive him, that it was over, that it had been nice knowing him but there was no chance-

Roger didn't want to think about it, but he wanted to know. Preferably sooner rather than later.  
However, another hour passed, and it became evident that Freddie wasn't coming back to the market this afternoon. 

Roger didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed. 

On his way home, he stopped by the shops and bought an excessive amount of groceries for their standards. After all, Freddie was all but broke and Roger had a feeling he might still stubbornly refuse anything he hadn't bought himself - much like the shirts and Roger's money - but if there was so much at home that it had to be eaten or else left to spoil, surely he wouldn't have a choice.

It was still drizzling a little and Roger was walking quickly, carrying the grocery bag, when he passed a small flower shop. He slowed and came to a halt, eyes wandering over the assortment of bouquets displayed on a flower stand outside. After a moment he snorted, shook his head and carried on walking.

He got halfway down the road before he suddenly turned on his heel and marched straight back and into the flower shop. 

Holy fuck, but roses were expensive. Roger decided against them. This was probably a stupid idea to begin with, so spending half a fortune on it wouldn't be wise. 

"How much is this one?" he asked the shop assistant, pointing to a colourful bouquet which, he thought, looked quite nice.

The shop girl smiled. "The freesias?"

Roger left the shop holding a bouquet of purple, white, orange and yellow flowers and feeling a bit of an idiot. But then again, it wasn't as if he could make things any worse, or so he thought. 

Or so he hoped. 

He could hear the opera music two floors down.  
Well, at least Freddie was home. 

When Roger unlocked the door, he was greeted with an unusual sight. Paint brushes littered the floor, on top of tissue paper stained with different colours. Predominantly bright red, giving the whole scene a rather dramatic look. There were a couple of jars with water, a stained cloth and several tubes of paint beside a canvas on the floor. And there was Freddie, sitting in front of it all in a washed out old t-shirt and threadbare jeans Roger had never seen him wear before. He was barefoot and had his hair tied back, also not something Roger had ever seen him do, he thought, tilting his head to the side curiously. But then, he had seen Freddie sketch plenty of times, but he had never seen him paint.  
Freddie looked up and raised his eyebrows, equally surprised, and Roger remembered the flowers he was holding. 

"Hey," he said, closing the door, and chanced a small, uncertain smile as he held up the bouquet. 

Freddie put his brush down, wiped his hands on his trousers and made his way over to the record player to turn down the music, before he came over to him. Roger cleared his throat, feeling stupidly nervous for some reason. 

"I... I got you these." 

He was half expecting Freddie to laugh at him. 

He didn't. 

"I see that," he said instead, eyeing the bouquet with interest. "They're lovely." 

Roger breathed a sigh of relief when Freddie took the flowers. 

"Freesias," he said, brushing raindrops off the petals, and lifted his eyes back up to him. "I like freesias." 

Roger mentally punched the air.

"Cool," he said. 

"I'll put them in water."

Freddie wandered off to get the largest glass jar from the floor and proceeded to empty it out in the sink, filling it up with clean water, while Roger put the groceries away and then went to the bathroom. When he returned Freddie was standing next to the kitchen counter, where he had placed the flowers, breathing in their scent with an open-mouthed smile on his lips, front teeth poking out. He noticed Roger and quickly pulled his lip taut, returning to the floor. 

"I'm making pasta," Roger announced, "I'm sure there'll be enough for two if you're hungry." 

"Alright," Freddie said, in a non-committal sort of way, and went back to work. 

The spaghetti came out a bit chewy. But it was fine with the meat sauce. They ate on the floor, plates on their laps, leaning against Freddie's bed. At least the silence seemed more bearable now, somehow. Roger glanced over at the canvas, then at the man beside him. 

"Looks like you," He nodded at the painting which sported a silhouette in motion. 

"No, it doesn't." Freddie snorted. "It's not. I'm not finished."

"I know." 

Roger couldn't stop looking at Freddie's hair, simply because he wasn't used to seeing it like this. The shorter strands had escaped the pony tail and curled around his face. It looked... _nice_. Roger struggled to think of a word. Freddie's hair was getting quite long, he noted, and ran a hand through his own hair. His was, too. 

It was strange to be sitting so close without touching. Roger scooted a tiny bit closer and brushed his knuckles against Freddie's forearm softly. Freddie didn't pull away, but he didn't react, either. 

"I want to ask you something." He said, after a while. 

"Okay?" 

"How come you didn't sleep with her?" Freddie asked quietly, intently staring at his spaghetti. 

'Shit,' Roger thought, taking a deep breath. He could lie. Who would know? Brian. Brian would know. 

"Um," he lowered his plate, scraping a bit of sauce off of the edge with his fork. "We smoked some pot. And, uh... it made me feel like shit, right in the middle of things, so... so that was the end of that." 

Freddie looked up from his plate, looked over at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and looked away again, shaking his head with a dry chuckle. 

"Well. I don't know what I was expecting." 

"But I'm glad it didn't happen," Roger offered quietly, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Freddie tutted and pulled himself up from the floor. He put his plate on the counter and stopped, frowning at the flowers.

"I was drunk..." Roger murmured, knowing even as he said it that it wasn't an excuse, or the right thing to say. 

"Yeah," Freddie scoffed, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "Now _that_ I believe." 

And with that he crossed over to the record player and put his record back on, turning it up loud enough to annoy the neighbours, before he settled back down in front of the canvas. 

Roger listlessly finished his food, even though his appetite had gone. 

\- - - 

Sitting on the tube on Monday afternoon, wearing a blank expression, Freddie watched the young couple across from him exchange kisses and whisper to each other, completely in their own world. 

How sickeningly happy they looked. 

Freddie didn't care about the girl, he had told himself. But that didn't silence the doubts, creeping from dark cracks of his mind like ghostly shadows. 

Was she _better_? A better kisser? Did Roger miss being with a girl? Had he been thinking about how much rather he'd have a girl every time he was in bed with Freddie? None of this had ever crossed his mind before, because it wasn't something _he_ ever thought.

But Roger wasn't like him. Was he? 

_'Didn't really feel like finding out how much I don't like sucking dick anyway, if I'm honest...'_

What if Freddie wasn't enough? _Couldn't_ be enough? 

The couple got off and Freddie was left staring at his own reflection when the train left the station and disappeared into the tunnel.

\- - - 

Smile had two gigs that week. One in Cambridge on Thursday night and one in a pub back in London on Friday. Monday night they spent rehearsing, adding a new song Brian and Tim had written and a couple of covers to their repertoire. 

Roger came home late and found the mess on their floor gone, the canvas drying against the wall next to the mirror, and Freddie on his bed, guitar in hand, his notebook beside him. He glanced up briefly, greeting him with a quiet 'hey', and turned back to his notes, chewing on the end of his pencil. 

It wasn't until Roger had pottered around for a bit, listening to Freddie quietly strum the odd cord and hum to himself, that he dared to ask the obvious question. 

"Are you... writing a song?" 

Freddie stopped frowning at the frets in search of the right cord and looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. 

"Yes." he said flatly. 

"Oh," Roger nodded, "Cool." 

With a subtle eye roll, Freddie turned back to the frets. 

A little while later, he tucked the notebook under the guitar and left for the bathroom.  
Over on his own bed, cigarette in hand, Roger heard the shower turn on and immediately found his eyes wandering over to Freddie's bed. He glanced at the bathroom door, and back over at the guitar, which was hiding the notebook from view. Roger scratched his cheek, lips pursed in contemplation. Surely a little peek wouldn't hurt. 

He was curious. Although, deep down, in all honesty, he really just wanted to know if it was any good. 

Roger stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and snuck over to Freddie's bed, eyes on the bathroom door even though he could still hear the water running. He perched down and moved the guitar aside, lifting the open notebook up to his face. His brows furrowed as he read the lyrics.

  
_I have wronged you, Lover_  
_Lover, I have sinned_  
_Won't you please forgive me?_  
_Won't you let me in?_

_Liar_  
_Everybody deceives me_  
_Liar_  
_Why don't you leave me_  
_alone?_  


Oh.

Roger blinked, mouth hanging open slightly. He was starting to regret taking a look, but he couldn't put it down now.

  
_Lover, I have hurt you_  
_Hurt you many times_  
_Raised my voice in anger_  
_When I know I never should_

_Liar! Blame it on the wine_  
_Liar! Time after time_  
_Liar! You're lying to me_  
_Liar! You're lying to me_

_Lover, please forgive me_  
~~_You know you'll never leave me_ ~~  


It ended there in a few more scribbled lines, unreadable as they had been crossed out quite thoroughly. Roger stared at the notebook for a long time before he slowly put it back down, tucked it under the guitar, and retreated to his bed, lighting another cigarette.

It was good. 

It was a good song.

Roger didn't dare speak to Freddie nor so much as look at him for the rest of the night.

But the next morning, he'd made a decision. 

"Fred," he said softly, sitting down beside him on the bed. Freddie looked up, chewing a mouthful of cereal. 

"I'm gonna go up to Cambridge today," Roger informed him. "Until Friday." 

Freddie stopped chewing and lowered his bowl, brows knotted. 

"Where will you stay?" he asked, after a moment. Not 'Why?' or 'Don't go', and even though Roger couldn't blame him, it hurt. 

"Old friend from school. Been ages since I've seen him. Pretty sure he can put me up." 

Freddie nodded, and returned his attention to his cereal. "Okay."

Okay. 

With a heavy heart, Roger went to pack his duffle bag. 

\- - - 

Freddie had long finished his cereal by the time Roger walked out of the door with barely a goodbye, but he remained sitting on his bed for a long time, a whirlwind of emotion raging inside him. 

He had never felt so torn. A bitter, wounded part of him wanted to wish Roger good riddance. Another part was strangely relieved, and yet he was disappointed and angry at the same time, irrationally so, because this _wasn't_ what he wanted. Where was the Roger who had sat outside his house for three hours, refusing to leave until he agreed to let him in? Where was the Roger who had dropped everything and run to see him at the market, to tell him how much Freddie meant to him and coax him into a kiss despite himself? 

Maybe Freddie didn't want Roger to leave. Maybe he wanted to be pulled back when he turned away, and held tight even if he struggled, and kissed passionately, and told that Roger wasn't giving up on this. That he would do whatever it took, because he _loved_ him and he was never, ever giving up on this.

But Roger was gone. 

Freddie pressed his lips together, staring at the door. 

He was gone. 

The emotional roller-coaster seemed to know no end. On Tuesday night Freddie worked on his song in defiant anger, until his fingertips were numb and sore from the guitar strings and the downstairs neighbours interrupted his singing with a loud knock on the ceiling. 

"... _I'm gonna love you 'til your dying day_..." Freddie trailed off quietly and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. 

It was cathartic. 

Having poured all his hurt, ire and disappointment into the song, he found there was less of it left in his heart. 

But that, in turn, gave way to sadness and longing. And he spent Wednesday fighting it, ignoring it, putting it all out of his mind. Because, for god's sake, he was not so weak. He was not going to mope around the empty room, staring at Roger's unmade bed and at the flowers, which were slowly dying. 

So Freddie impulsively reached for a pair of scissors after a shower and gave himself a fringe because he was sick of his hair always hanging into his face.  
He turned up Electric Ladyland loud and danced naked in front of the cracked floor length mirror, singing along to _Come On (Let the Good Times Roll)_.  
He went to Biba and spent money on a shirt that was on sale when he knew he shouldn't, and asked Mary if she fancied a drink after work. 

She did. 

Mary's company proved the best distraction. Freddie liked listening to her, and Mary liked to hear him talk. There was something about the way she listened, wholeheartedly hanging on his every word, which made him want to tell her things he dared not tell himself in such resolute terms. When he talked about what he wanted out of his future to her, he believed himself, because there was only fascination and not a hint of doubt in her eyes. Freddie bid her goodbye that night feeling like he could take on the world single-handedly, thank you very much.

But the high didn't last. Term was wrapping up and Freddie was free on Thursday, and so he went to the market. And there, the thought of Roger was inescapable. It felt like a part of him was missing. Unbidden memories plagued him, of all the laughter and camaraderie they had shared in this stuffy old place, and all the breathtaking excitement of the first time they had kissed. 

Late on Thursday night, Freddie curled up on Roger's bed, pressing his face into the pillow and breathing in his scent. He wondered how the show had gone. How long ago it must have finished and whether Roger was at the pub, on his third pint, laughing with Tim and Brian and chatting up girls who were all too willing. And why shouldn't he? 

Why shouldn't he? 

Freddie had let him leave. 

He'd let him walk out without a word.

Friday came and Freddie felt nervous all day. But Roger didn't come home during the day. Freddie assumed he must have gone straight to their pub gig. And yet, midnight came and went, and still there was no sign of him. 

On Friday night, in the early morning hours, Freddie lay under the covers with his headphones on and allowed himself to cry.

\- - - 

It was after three in the morning when Roger quietly let himself into the flat, as quietly as he could anyway, given that he was fairly tipsy. 

The pub gig had turned into a lock in, and frankly, he had been scared to come home, scared to face what he would find. Tim and Anne had left around one in the morning, and Roger had proceeded to drunkenly talk Brian's ear off until the guitarist had all but shoved him down the road as they were leaving the pub. 

"For fuck's sake, go home and talk to him!" 

Roger dropped his bag by the door and walked over to Freddie's bed, swaying a little as he stopped and gazed down at the sleeping young man. He was wearing his headphones. The cassette was still playing. Roger could faintly hear the music. 

At that moment, Roger wanted to call his name and wake him up. Wanted to wrap his arms around him more than he wanted anything else in the world. But there was a lead weight in his chest which held him in place and robbed him of his voice.

'You can't,' it said, 'You don't deserve this.' 

And he didn't. He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve to feel Freddie's warmth, didn't deserve his affection and most certainly not his love. But Christ, he just couldn't bear it anymore. The longing was so bad it tore at his very soul. It was a wound refusing to heal and only Freddie could make it better.

He had spent four days trying not to think about Freddie and failing miserably. Four days drinking himself into a stupor every night, surrounded by friends and yet feeling so lonely it hurt. 

Freddie looked peaceful, his distinctive features somehow far more beautiful than Roger remembered. Not for the first time, he wondered if Freddie had missed him at all. If he'd wanted him to come back or dreaded it. 

If he would ever forgive him. 

Eventually, Roger tore himself away and went to shower. Drunk or not, he felt grimy after the long day he'd had. 

At least the alcohol coursing through his system ensured that he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

It was a small blessing. 

Roger awoke to the sound of rain pattering down on the skylight and slowly opened his eyes, feeling disoriented for a moment until he remembered where he was. His heart sank.  
He sighed and slowly rolled over, peering at the bed across from his. Freddie was also still in bed, his back turned. Roger closed his eyes again and lay awake but unmoving, trying to think of words to say. Trying to brace himself for rejection. Trying to take it like a man, for Christ's sake. 

His eyes flew open when he heard a quiet yawn. Freddie stretched a little, untangled himself from the headphones which had slipped off his head during the night, and lifted a hand to rub his face.  
Roger's heart jumped into his throat as he watched the dark-haired man shift and roll over, dark eyes happening upon him. 

Freddie froze mid-stretch and blinked, a dazed expression on his face, lips parted slightly in surprise. 

"Hi," Roger croaked quietly, his voice barely obeying him after a night of too many cigarettes. 

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

"Hi," Freddie mouthed and his breath hitched, his stunned expression breaking into a look so desperately sad that Roger felt it in his heart. But before he could say anything, Freddie quickly turned away and rolled over to face the other side. Roger's insides gave a painful jolt. 

No. 

_No more_. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown back his duvet. 

Freddie didn't move when he approached the side of his bed and sat down. He didn't protest when Roger lifted the covers and climbed into bed with him, wrapping his arms around him from behind in one determined, possessive move that didn't tolerate resistance.  
But Freddie wasn't resisting, Roger realised, relief washing over him. Freddie melted into him with a shaky sigh and Roger hugged him tightly, breathing in his scent. 

It was then that the words came, like a torrent from a breaking dam. 

"I need you," he gasped, burying his face in Freddie's hair. "I know you're angry and you have every right to be, but I _need_ you. Y-you're my best friend... and so much more." He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as tears welled up in them. "I won't let you go. I'm not letting you go, I'm sorry, but I'm _not._ I love you. I love you... I don't know what I have to do... to make it better, but I'll _do_ it. Please..." Roger whispered. " _Please_. I'll do it." 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to make it a cliffhanger or anything but I keep writing chapters that are too long! Haha.
> 
> Personally, I cannot _wait_ for next week, and next week you'll know why.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only the one who inflicts the pain can take it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super long. 7000 words. I'm... not sorry.
> 
> It was mostly written while listening to the "Fifty Shades of Grey" remix of Beyonce's 'Crazy In Love'. I recommend putting it on when you read it, haha. It's a mood. 
> 
> I really hope you like this, I feel strongly about this chapter.

\- - - 

He had him at the first words which left his lips. 

_'I need you.'_

Roger's arms wrapped around him and Freddie's heart leapt into his throat. A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps all over his skin. 

He could feel his defences crumble. 

Freddie closed his eyes and let the other man's warmth envelope him. Hot breath tickled his ear as tear choked pleas tore down any will he had left to resist, leaving him raw and his soul exposed. And it was in that moment when Freddie knew he had been waiting for these words, had _needed_ to hear them. 

_'I won't let you go...'_

His hands found Roger's, holding him so tightly that it seemed the other man never meant to let go again, and Freddie hoped that he would not. 

Roger drew a breath, a shuddering, incredulous sigh of relief, when Freddie intertwined their fingers. 

"Fred..." 

Freddie turned his head, their eyes meeting. Pale blue and deep brown, cloudy with tears. Roger inclined his head. It was the smallest movement, but his gaze was a well of love and yearning. Freddie's lips parted, a silent invitation. 

Roger took it. 

The kiss was like coming back to life. It was desperation, passion and surrender. It filled every fibre of Freddie's being with a warm glow and robbed him of his breath. Impossibly gentle at first, but then, as though a switch was flicked, they melted into each other with fervent ardour. Freddie clung on to Roger's hand as a tear left a hot trail down his cheek, and felt the other's fingers tighten around his. 

How was it possible to love so much? 

So much it _hurt_?

He was weak, after all, Freddie thought.  
In Roger's arms, he was _weak_ and it thrilled and terrified him. 

But he was also _alive_. 

They broke apart, half sobbing, half panting, and Roger buried his face in Freddie's hair. 

"You can never lie to me again," Freddie told him with a quiet sniff, "You mustn't."

"I won't," Roger kissed his shoulder and breathed him in deeply, his face in the crook of his neck. "I promise you... I won't." 

"Swear it," Freddie uttered. 

Roger's lips left searing kisses along the side of his neck. "I swear," he whispered hoarsely, "on my life." 

Freddie swallowed, no longer certain what he felt amidst the tempest of emotion raging inside him. He wanted to trust and believe Roger's words so badly, give himself over to relief and happiness without hesitation, but with a pang of anguish he realised that a part of him just _could not do it_. There was a dark corner of his soul which harboured resentment and distrust, and refused to be hurt again. And yet, at the same time, he was so overwhelmed with longing for the other man that his heart ached with it. He willed the feeling to fill him wholly, drown out the darkness and take away the pain. 

All the while, his mind zeroed in on the heat of Roger's body, flush against his own. Roger's lips on his skin, making his pulse quicken, flooding his insides with the dizzying heat of desire. Freddie marveled at how used he had become to the other's touch, and how much he had missed it when he was deprived of it. 

He wasn't the only one. Freddie shifted, keenly aware of Roger's half hard dick pressed up against him. The hot tingling inside him intensified and he latched on to it like a drowning man to a lifeline. Because there was nothing complicated about _this_. He knew what to do with this.

Freddie arched his back a little, pushing himself into Roger's groin. 

"Sorry..." Roger murmured uncertainly against his shoulder, pulling back slightly. Did he think Freddie was trying to push him away? That was a first, Freddie thought, a little dismayed. Although, given everything that had happened, he understood why Roger might think his advances would not be welcome. 

However, he could not have been more wrong. 

'Please,' Freddie thought, closing his eyes and wordlessly guiding one of Roger's hands down. 'Please... I want you. I need you, too.' Down between his legs, firmly placing it on his own hardening cock. 'I need you to want me... I need you to want _me_.' 

The change in Roger's demeanor was instantaneous. His fingers tightened around Freddie, making him moan softly. His tongue and teeth found Freddie's ear as he palmed him through his pyjama trousers, slowly grinding against him from behind. Freddie felt himself shiver all over, bucking into Roger's hand, unashamedly needy. It had been a long, lonely week. 

A week spent wondering if he was still loved.  
Still _wanted._

"Missed you so much," Roger whispered against his ear, his voice rough and breathless, setting Freddie's nerve endings on fire in the best possible way. Roger pulled at the pyjama bottoms, tugging them down. He brought his hand up briefly and licked his palm before his fingers wrapped around Freddie's dick, setting a slow pace.  
Freddie chuckled through a moan. 

"Yeah, I like your lil' trick," Roger smirked, his voice breathy and low, "That feel good?" 

"Uh-huh..." Freddie breathed in response and bit his lower lip, thrusting into Roger's hand to try and make him go faster. The fair-haired man obliged and turned his attention to the head, closing his fingers around him tighter as his hand moved up and down rapidly. 

"Oh _god_... ahh, darling..." 

His other hand had snaked its way underneath Freddie's shirt, nails grazing his skin.  
Freddie turned back over his shoulder, one hand reaching up, fingers tangling in Roger's hair even as their lips found each other again. They kissed fiercely, nipping at each other's lips and tongues delving deep into each other's mouths. The young drummer's talented hands had Freddie moaning and shuddering with delight. However, the feeling of Roger's hard cock grinding against his bare arse through a layer of underwear was sending him wild with desire. 

"I wanna feel you," Freddie mouthed into the kiss, fingers tightening around strands of dark blond hair. 

"What?" Roger pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes half-hooded and cheeks flushed. 

"I wanna..." Freddie repeated, a tiny bit louder, the dark look in his eyes unmistakable as his hand left Roger's hair and reached down between them, giving him a firm squeeze through his briefs. "Wanna feel you." 

"Fuck yeah," Roger breathed, bucking into his hand, and kissed him again, teeth almost clashing. Then he released Freddie in order to rid himself of his underwear and shirt. Freddie followed suit, kicking off his pyjama bottoms under the covers and quickly stripping off his own shirt, too. There was a sudden urgency which had arisen as soon as Freddie had utterd the words. An uncontrollable _need_. It was like a pleasurable haze clouded Freddie's mind, leaving it wonderfully blank and singularly focused on one thing and one thing only. He wanted to be desired, irresistibly. Wanted to be _claimed_. Wanted it hot and rough and wanted it _now_. 

Freddie glanced back over his shoulder while Roger rummaged through the top drawer of the night stand before turning away again, eyes falling shut as he stroked himself, feeling positively faint with anticipation.

He shuddered when Roger wrapped an arm around him again, pulling their bodies close, skin to skin.  
A weak sound escaped his lips, somewhere between a whimper and a purr, when Roger's fingers found him, slick and warm. They teased, drawing circles and applying pressure, just short of going further. Freddie was on the verge of telling him to hurry it up when two fingers pushed inside him, drawing a soft gasp from him.

"Okay?" 

'God, yes. Fucking _perfect_ , darling.'

"Mhm... yeah..."

His own hand quickly lost its rhythm, trembling fingers ghosting over his cock, his entire focus on Roger, and Roger's dick, hard against the side of his arse while he pumped his fingers in and out of him almost leisurely. 

"Now, darling, please... now," Freddie murmured, his face flushed with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment to find himself outright begging for it. 

"Oh Jesus, Freddie..." Roger whispered against his neck between kisses, pushing his fingers deep into him a few more times before he pulled his hand away. Freddie held his breath when he felt the head of Roger's cock, braced against his entrance, and released it in a shuddering whimper when Roger slowly thrust inside. 

The mild burn only added to the thrill, an edge of pain on top of pleasure. It hurt so _good_. Panting and trembling, Freddie reached up with one hand, his knuckles grazing Roger's cheek as he turned back over his shoulder and met his eyes. Freddie held his gaze even as the first few thrusts drew low, guttural moans from both of them. Roger's face was a picture, mouth hanging open and his eyes dark, half-hidden behind his lashes, as he fucked him slow and deep. 

"Fuck," he half moaned, half growled between thrusts, and squeezed his eyes shut, firmly gripping Freddie's hip. "Love it... ah, _so much_... so fucking good..." 

Freddie let his head fall back down onto the pillow, surrendering his body to his lover and his mind to unadulterated pleasure as Roger increased the pace. His hoarse moans were hot in Freddie's ear, turning him on so much. Freddie's hand was back on his leaking cock, stroking himself furiously, erasing every last coherent thought in his head until all that remained was _fuck yes, take me, harder, don't stop, dear god don't stop_. Some combination of those words left his lips in the form of a desparate whine between breathy whimpers of approval. He was getting blissfully close and was so out of it he barely registered the words murmured into his hair. 

"Wha...?"

"Get on your knees," Roger repeated, his voice strained, sending a shiver down Freddie's spine. 

"Mmhhyeah..." Freddie agreed, moving a little sluggishly. He whined quietly at the loss as Roger released him and pulled away to shove the duvet aside, before he helped Freddie up onto his hands and knees. Freddie edged forward and grabbed on to the headboard instead, lifting himself up a bit higher, his back arched. He moved his knees a little further apart when Roger positioned himself behind him and in one unforgiving thrust, Roger was back inside him, making them both moan loudly with delight. Roger picked up the pace quickly, until he was pounding into him hard and fast. 

"Ohfuck _ohfuck_ ," Freddie cried, eyes squeezed shut and clinging on to the headboard, his knuckles white. It was breathtakingly overwhelming, almost _too much_ , and yet not enough to make him come. But god, he didn't want it to stop. They found a rhythm after a few moments, Freddie pushing himself back on Roger's dick in time with his thrusts. 

"Ah, _shit_ -" 

"Ohgod..." 

"You, ah- you like that, baby?" 

"Yes! Ahh! _Yes_!" 

The flat of Roger's hand came down hard on his arse, making him gasp. Stinging heat spread across the abused patch of skin. Freddie immediately and quite desparately wanted Roger to do it again, and moaned obscenely when he did. 

The bed was creaking precariously. Not that either one of them noticed. Roger grabbed a fistful of Freddie's hair, twisting it around his hand and tugging at it firmly. Making him arch his back more. It was depraved, all of it, Freddie thought. It was filthy, wrong and _wonderful_. May the devil have his soul, he didn't care. He no longer cared. 

Roger came with a breathless groan, hips slamming against Freddie's arse again and again. Until he fell back onto his haunches, pulling Freddie with him and onto his lap, his back against Roger's chest. Before Freddie could get his bearings, Roger's hand found his aching cock, tossing him off firmly and rapidly. Freddie all but sobbed, throwing his head back onto Roger's shoulder, thighs quivering with the strain as he bounced himself up and down on Roger's still hard dick. _Holy fuck_ , something about the angle was just right, _just right_ , in the most incredible way. It was like jolts of electricity tearing through him. He didn't recognise his own voice, not with the sounds he was making. 

_Holyfuckohwow-_

Freddie turned his head toward Roger and their lips brushed briefly as he fell over the edge, pressing his forehead against Roger's temple, convulsing on top of him helplessly in perfect ecstasy. Making the younger man moan when he clenched down on him hard. 

"Ohh _shit_ -" 

"Oh god, ohmygooood-" 

The world went dark for several seconds.

_'May the devil have my soul. May I die loving like this rather than live the way you want me to.'_

Freddie opened his eyes, gasping for breath in Roger's arms. 

"Wow," the younger man broke into a slow smile, nuzzling against the side of his face. 

"Yeah," Freddie breathed, chest heaving. 

"That was fucking wild," Roger murmured, unceremoniously wiping his hand on the sheet. 

"Yeah," Freddie repeated, still trying to catch his breath, completely lost for words. And then he laughed, eyes falling shut for a moment, one of the stronger aftershocks making his muscles contract around Roger. 

"Ahh... too much," the younger man whimpered and chuckled, trying to lift him off himself. "Stop, I can't take it..." 

Freddie lifted himself up and climbed off him, dropping down onto the bed like a dead weight. 

Roger threw himself down next to him, wrapping himself around him, arms, legs and all. 

"Fuck, that was good..." he whispered against Freddie's neck. "Fucking hell." 

"Yeah," Freddie agreed, staring up at the skylight, still incapable of words. Roger shifted and raised one hand up in the air, grinning dopily when Freddie turned his head to look at him. Freddie snorted as he caught on, and lifted a heavy hand to high-five him. They both laughed even as their fingers intertwined, their joined hands dropping down onto Freddie's stomach. 

"Didn't really expect that at all, if I'm honest," Roger said with another quiet chuckle as he kissed Freddie's shoulder. 

"We should fight more often," he joked offhandedly, but then immediately grew quiet. 

Freddie wasn't laughing. 

"Sorry," Roger murmured, glancing up at him and pressing another gentle kiss to his shoulder. "I didn't mean that." 

Freddie slid one arm around his boyfriend and took a deep breath. Most of the insane high was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a strange reality. 

'Was that really me, just now?' he wondered, and at the same time felt as though he was truly and unapologetically himself, in this very moment. 

Roger released his hand and ran his fingers over the side of his face, traced the line of his jaw, his lips. Freddie's thoughts dispersed as the caress brought him back to physical reality. He turned his head a little, meeting the other man's loving gaze. 

Roger smiled. "You're beautiful." 

Freddie blinked and couldn't help but smile back, hiding his teeth behind his lip. "That's a lie," he murmured quietly, "but thank you." 

"Don't argue with me," Roger frowned, shaking his head ever so slightly. "You're fucking drop dead gorgeous." He threaded his fingers into Freddie's dark curls, pulling him into a kiss. 

"I mean, honestly, we both are," Roger smirked as he broke away. 

Freddie chuckled. 

"Which is why, one day soon..." The fair-haired man kissed him again, playfully sucking his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment. "... when we're rich and famous, everyone's gonna want a piece of this." He pulled Freddie close, squeezing him tightly. "But I won't allow it. You're mine and I'm not sharing." 

Freddie laughed breathlessly. "We? You're the only one on your way to fame and glory, dearie." 

Roger released him and shrugged as they turned toward each other, lying side by side and looking into each other's eyes, legs tangling and arms loosely draped over each other's bodies. Lazily caressing. 

"You're crazy talented," Roger said matter-of-factly, "Of course you're gonna be famous one day." 

Freddie felt a powerful pang of emotion. His heart gave a jolt. He couldn't quite say what it was, only Roger had never called him talented before. Or beautiful, for that matter.  
Lips parted and eyebrows raised, Freddie stared at him for a long moment and then closed the distance to seal his lips with a kiss. It was of the sort which felt never-ending, so good neither of them quite wanted to stop until they eventually had to come up for air. 

"I missed you," Freddie whispered, when he finally pulled back. 

"I missed you, too," Roger brushed a strand of dark hair behind Freddie's ear, cupping his cheek with one hand. "Every single minute of every day."

Freddie rolled his eyes with a small smile, shaking his head a little. "I'm sure there were... distractions..." 

"Not one," Roger said earnestly without missing a beat, his thumb stroking Freddie's cheek bone. 

"Just you. On my mind..." he leaned forward, capturing Freddie's lips in another fleeting kiss. "All day." 

They looked at each other for a few long moment in silence. 

"So... does this mean we're okay?" Roger finally asked, eyes large and hopeful. 

Freddie opened his mouth, tried to say yes, and couldn't. 

"I don't know," he heard himself say, and immediately wished he hadn't, because now Roger looked disheartened, and a second ago everything had been _perfect_. 

"I'm sorry," he added and pulled out of the embrace, sitting up on the bed. "I'm going to go clean up..." 

"Freddie-" Roger sat up as well, moving to follow him. 

"I'll be right back, lovvie," Freddie said softly, casting the warmest smile he could muster back over his shoulder. 

Roger hesitantly sat back down on the bed and watched him disappear into the bathroom, consternation on his face. 

Freddie cleaned himself up, drank a few mouthfuls of water from the tap and washed his face, stopping to look at himself in the mirror as he lowered the towel.

_'You're beautiful.'_

He had never felt so confused and unsure of his own feelings. Right now, he didn't know if he knew his own mind at all, and he hated that. 

_'Are you my boyfriend?_

_Am I yours?'_

' _Are_ you?' Freddie wondered, unable to shake the image of Roger's hand, sliding underneath a girl's skirt, his mouth on a pair of cherry-red lips, and images Freddie's mind cruelly conjured up, images he didn't _want_ to see of the girl from the market - long hair, short skirt, stunning legs - in bed with the man he loved. 

Freddie closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair with a sigh, and forcefully shoved the mess in his mind aside. Roger was back. He was sorry. He loved him. He _loved_ him. It was over, he told himself, over and done with.

_'I don't know what I have to do to make it better... but I'll do it...'_

'I don't know, either,' Freddie thought, placing his hand on the door handle with a sigh. 

"Come here," Roger said the moment Freddie stepped back into the room. He was lying back on the bed with the duvet up to his waist, beckoning him closer. "Come here, I have to tell you something." 

Freddie raised an eyebrow, pulling his lip over his teeth, and wandered over to climb back under the covers with him. Roger turned to him, head propped up on his hand and Freddie automatically mirrored his position, also turning to face him. 

"No more lies," Roger said quietly, raising his eyes up to meet Freddie's. "I... the other morning, I had a look at your song while you were in the shower." 

Freddie rolled his eyes with a soft tut. "I _thought_ you might have done." 

"Sorry," Roger murmured, picking at some fluff on the bed sheet. 

Freddie watched him for a moment. "Is that why you ran off to Cambridge?" 

"Yeah," Roger admitted, carefully glancing back up at him. "Didn't think you wanted me around."

They looked at each other, and then averted their eyes, lying in silence for a while. Roger sighed and shifted onto his stomach, folding his arms underneath his head and peering up at him through messy strands of hair. 

"Did you ever finish it?" he asked. 

Freddie smoothed the creases in the duvet over with one hand. 

"Yes, I did." 

"What did you call it?" 

Hesitating for a moment, the dark-haired man turned back to him and ran his fingers through Roger's hair, brushing it out of his face.

"Lover," he said softly. 

Roger closed his eyes. 

"Thought it might be 'Liar'." 

Fingertips trailing down the younger man's cheekbone, Freddie slowly moved his hand down to the nape of his neck and back up into his hair, nails grazing his scalp. Roger gave a low hum of approval. 

"I wasn't as angry as all that," Freddie said quietly, caressing him. "Not for long, anyway. I just needed to get it out. You know?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"And you shouldn't be looking through my notebook, you nosy bastard." 

"I know." Roger's eyes opened. "I didn't look _through_ it."

"I should hope not." Freddie tangled his fingers in his hair, giving it a firm tug. Roger lifted his head up a little, holding his gaze. 

"I didn't." 

Freddie released him, his fingers trailing down the younger man's spine between his shoulder blades. Taking in every freckle and every line of his body, committing them to memory. 

"I didn't just tell my mother I had a girlfriend," Freddie suddenly said, eyes travelling up and down Roger's back, following his fingers. "I told her it was Mary. I convinced her Mary was my girlfriend." 

Roger didn't respond for quite a while, a pensive frown on his face. 

"Okay." he finally said. "Are you going to ask her to pretend-" 

"I don't know," Freddie replied quickly, his hand slipping underneath the covers, keeping the same leisurely pace as he stroked the warm skin of Roger's lower back and then moved lower still. His eyes wandered back up, meeting Roger's half-hooded gaze. The younger man wiggled a little, arching up ever so slightly into his touch. Freddie's fingers followed the curve of his arse, down and across. 

He was starting to feel a little short of breath again. 

"Enjoying yourself?" Roger murmured with a little smirk and licked his lips, sighing when Freddie ran his fingernails over his skin. 

"I like touching you," Freddie uttered, leaning in to kiss his shoulder, slowly leaving a trail of kisses across his shoulder blade all the way to his spine. 

Roger shuddered. 

"I like you touching me," he whispered, his voice sultry and sensual, sending a shiver through Freddie. His cock was definitely taking notice of the eroticism which had so easily found its way back into every touch. He gave Roger's arse a squeeze and pulled back to look at him, their faces inches apart. 

There was a moment. The very air between them felt charged with electricity. 

Roger moved first, and surprisingly fast. He took a hold of Freddie's wrists and rolled him over onto his back, pinning him against the mattress with his weight. Their lips collided, tongues playfully teasing each other. 

When they broke apart they were both breathing hard, staring deep into each other's eyes. Roger leaned down and dragged his lips up Freddie's neck, grinding against him, pushing his thigh between Freddie's legs. 

"So, apparently... my dick doesn't think we're done," he chuckled softly, close to Freddie's ear, releasing his wrists and intertwining their fingers instead. 

Freddie gave a breathy laugh, bucking up against Roger's leg. "I, ahh... yes, I can tell."

They melted into another kiss, moving against each other, both as desperate for each other as they had been only a short while ago. There had been days like this, Freddie thought, back in Roger's old room when things had only just started out. Entire mornings filled with just this, kissing and driving each other wild again and again, for hours. But then came the move, and his dissertation, and stress and fights and, god, Freddie didn't want to think about any of that. There was an insatiable hunger inside him, and he wanted _more._  
His grip tightened on Roger's hands as he rolled him over, reversing their positions in one sudden move. Roger made a noise between a gasp and a chuckle, taken off guard. But his laughter petered out when he met Freddie's eyes, dark as the night. Roger raised an eyebrow, swallowing thickly. 

"Round two?" 

Freddie dipped down and ran the flat of his tongue over one of his boyfriend's nipples, causing him to squirm. 

"I'll take that as a _yes_..." Roger breathed, and whimpered when Freddie's teeth joined his tongue. 

But Freddie didn't stop there.

He made his way up to Roger's throat, sucking tender patches of skin into his mouth, very deliberately leaving marks. 'Mine', a voice whispered at the back of his mind, the urge to somehow lay claim on the other man suddenly utterly overwhelming. Roger moaned as Freddie pushed his legs apart, grinding their cocks together. 

'Mine...' 

A thought arose from his yearning to _have_ the other man, and have him completely. Only never had it been so pronounced before, because usually the part of him which wanted to be _taken_ easily won the upper hand. 

But for once, he found that it didn't. 

His cock gave a twitch and his heart beat faster as the thought manifested itself into a fantasy, vivid before his inner eye. Freddie released Roger's hands as their lips found each other again. Rolling onto his side, he pulled the younger man with him, one arm around him and one hand sliding back down to his arse. Roger moaned into Freddie's mouth, his fingers buried in dark hair, and wrapped a leg around his hip when Freddie raked his nails over his skin. Unable to stop himself moaning in response, Freddie ran his hands all over Roger's lean body, as though trying to map it with his palms. Thighs, shoulders, back, and that small, perfectly shaped arse he couldn't seem to keep his hands off. Dear god, but he wanted him so much. 

They broke the kiss and breathlessly gazed at each other for a moment. There was a hint of curiosity in Roger's eyes, a little twinkle of intrigue. Freddie bit his lip, wondering if he was being quite obvious. Wondering if, perhaps, he wasn't being obvious enough. His hand slid across Roger's thigh and back around to his backside even as he leaned in close to his ear, heart hammering wildly in his throat and cheeks burning. 

\- - - 

"I wanna fuck you," Freddie breathed, barely a whisper. 

_Oh._

Roger's eyes widened and his stomach lurched even as the words went straight to his groin, adding a whole lot of confusion to surprise. He had been wondering what was going on, what with the suggestive, almost greedy way Freddie was caressing him, which Roger had been quite enjoying up until this moment. But he hadn't actually expected-

Freddie pulled back just far enough to look at him, one hand firmly planted on his arse, eyes gleaming with an awed sort of desire. Hot and pleading and almost innocent in their passion, somehow, soothing the panicked part of him which immediately balked at the idea.  
It wasn't that the thought had never ever crossed Roger's mind before. To say he wasn't the least bit curious would have been a brazen lie, but it was a far reach from mild curiosity to the reality of it, right here, right now. 

Freddie leaned in and kissed him, deeply and fervently, wrapping both arms around him. Holding him so lovingly as his lips decended to Roger's neck, lavishing it with tender kisses while his hips bucked against him, the friction so wonderful. 

Roger couldn't find his voice, caught in a strange state, somewhere between incredibly turned on and _freaking out_. 

"Uhh, right now?" he finally managed, his voice an embarrassingly unsteady dead giveaway of just how nervous the idea made him. And what a stupid thing to say was that, anyway? 

Freddie looked at him again, bringing a hand up to his cheek. 

"Don't worry," he murmured, pulling his lip over his teeth. "Not if you don't want to..." 

Roger felt like a complete ass. Freddie looked a little depleted, a little disappointed even while trying not to show it. Embarrassed for so much as suggesting it. And here was Roger, happy to shag him senseless not half an hour ago and now afraid to-

No, wait. Fuck that, he wasn't _afraid_. Ridiculous. What was he? A fucking blushing virgin? Afraid, indeed. Bullshit. 

Freddie hadn't been afraid. 

Roger wasn't afraid, he told himself, a stubborn sense of pride and daring overtaking anxiety. 

"No," he heard himself say, sliding an arm around Freddie, their faces so close their noses were almost touching. "No, I mean, yeah... I do. I want to." 

Freddie lifted his eyebrows a little, a faint smile on his lips, his thumb stroking Roger's cheek. "Really?" 

He looked like he almost couldn't believe it and Roger understood. He had felt that way, too.

"Yeah," Roger whispered, eyes half-hooded. The pit of his stomach flooded with a mixture of desire and nervous apprehension. 

This was happening. Oh fuck, it was happening. Oh Christ, oh shit. What if he really didn't like it? He couldn't quite imagine liking it all that much if he was perfectly honest, which was sort of terrible, because he sure liked doing it to Freddie, and Freddie seemed to like it, he reasoned, trying to talk himself into the whole thing. Surely it couldn't be so bad? 

Freddie gave a low hum, almost a purr, and kissed him again, licking deep into his mouth. His hand slid down between them, fingers wrapping around Roger's dick. That was good, that was definitely helping, Roger thought, relaxing into the feeling. Thrusting into Freddie's hand, breathless whimpers on his lips as Freddie returned his attention to his neck. They rolled back over, Roger on his back and Freddie half on top of him, his mouth all over him. Decorating his chest and neck with love bites. Kissing him until he could barely breathe and his lips felt swollen, and all the while, tossing him off so good. Until Roger was well and truly lost in the haze of excitement, head thrown back and one arm draped across the pillow above his head, the other on Freddie's back, nails digging into his skin. 

"God, Roger, you are gorgeous," Freddie breathed and released him, dragging his nails up across his stomach to his chest. The words brought a small smirk to Roger's lips. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at his boyfriend through his lashes, chest heaving. Freddie's eyes were dark pools of desire. 

"Turn around," he whispered, pulling back a little to give him some space. The nervous tingle in Roger's stomach made a swift return, however, dampened by just how turned on he was. He swallowed and did as he was told, hugging the pillow close. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Freddie reach over to the nightstand and decided to close his eyes, turning his head the other way.

"Alright, dearie," Freddie murmured softly into his shoulder, placing a few soft kisses there. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Roger gave a small nod. Of course. He knew that. 

He knew that.

Freddie kissed his way down his spine, fingers ghosting over his arse. Roger instinctively arched his back a little, biting down on his lower lip and all but holding his breath. Freddie's fingertips slid down between his buttocks and gently pressed against his hole. Roger tried to hold it together. He really did. But he just couldn't. All that build up, and it just felt so fucking awkward. He snorted, turning his face into the pillow. 

Freddie made a sound between a chuckle and a mildly exasperated sigh, pulling his hand away. 

"Roggie." 

"Sorry," Roger snickered, lifting his head. "It's just really _weird_." 

"Shh..." Freddie attempted, trying to hold back his own laughter. "Just relax, dear. Relax..."

Roger took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and settled back down into the pillow. Leaning down to kiss his shoulder, Freddie began to touch him again and moved his fingers in small circles. After a few moments, it didn't feel quite so strange anymore. Not bad at all, actually. Sensual. Kinda sexy, Roger thought, arching his back just a little bit more. As Freddie very gradually increased the pressure, Roger found himself _waiting_ , impatiently, for one of his fingers to slip inside.  
Until finally, one did. 

Oh, wow. Okay. That felt... different. 

However, he was far from laughter now. He was so absorbed in this new, strangely intense sensation that it took him a while to realise his breath was coming in shallow gasps and his hips had started moving quite of their own accord, eagerly matching the rhythm of Freddie's hand as he fingered him slowly. And then, the stretch increased and Roger whimpered softly, realising Freddie had added another finger. 

"Okay?" Freddie asked, stroking his back with his other hand. 

"Yeah..." Roger breathed. "Yeah, that's... ah... that's good."

He didn't really have a word at all. It was _strange_ and strangely _sexy_ and not really comparable to anything else that he knew turned him on. But it was definitely up there.  
Especially that thing Freddie was doing, twisting his fingers inside him to get them deeper. Roger turned his face into the pillow, moaning quietly and wondering what he had been so worried about in the first place. This was quite the experience. Maybe he'd been missing out?  
However, a part of him was well aware that two fingers felt like a pretty tight fit, which was a bit worrying because two fingers were nowhere near the size of- 

"Ahh!" 

As if he'd read his mind, Freddie worked a third finger inside him. Roger's mouth fell open and he lifted himself up on his elbows a little, clutching the pillow tightly and glancing back over his shoulder. Freddie looked absolutely rapt, gazing down at him with a mixture of raw hunger and amazement in his eyes. 

"Ahh, shit, Freddie..." Roger whined as he thrust his fingers deeper inside him. 

It sort of burned, but it also felt good, indescribable and breathtaking, tapping right into something deep inside him he couldn't control or understand, making him ache with need. 

"Fuck," Freddie uttered, his voice strained with desire. When he pulled his hand away the next moment, Roger almost wanted to protest at the emptiness he felt. However, with a pang of nervous excitement, he realised what came next. 

As Freddie reached for the tin of vaseline again, Roger sat up, turning back around and pulling him into a messy, passionate kiss. 

"I love you," he whispered against Freddie's lips, a smirk on his face. 

"I love you, too," Freddie smiled back. "So much." 

Their lips crashed together again, like magnets, eternally drawn to each other and completely unable to help it. The smirk was back on Roger's lips as he pulled away, giving Freddie a playfully alluring wink before he got on his hands and knees. He didn't fancy just lying there, because at least this way he could move, and a part of him clung on to control, refusing to simply surrender it. 

"Oh my god, Roggie..." Freddie whispered, sounding a bit faint, one hand on Roger's hip as he positioned himself behind him. "Okay?" 

"Yeah," Roger breathed, closing his eyes, heart in his throat when he felt the head of Freddie's cock pressed up against him. 

Freddie pushed forward. Roger made an involuntary, pained noise, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Fuck," he panted, before Freddie could say anything. "It's fine, I'm fine... keep going."

It didn't hurt _that_ bad.

It didn't _not_ hurt. 

Anyway, he wasn't going to chicken out _now_. 

However, he was starting to rethink his position because he collapsed onto his elbows almost immediately and his thighs wouldn't stop shaking. He could hear Freddie's laboured breathing as he slowly pushed inside, a little at a time, gripping his hips tightly. It felt like ages before Freddie's hips were flush against him. Roger couldn't think anymore. All he could do was try and breathe through it, immensely thankful for the fact that Freddie was holding perfectly still. Stroking his thighs and his lower back. Giving him time.  
Roger didn't know what to do with himself at all, the whole thing was so unbearably intense. He felt helpless and vulnerable and on the brink of tears without knowing why, and then, Freddie moved. 

"Oh my god," he moaned breathily, slowly pulling out and thrusting back inside him. "oh my _god_ -" 

The second time he pulled back and pushed back inside was a little faster and then Freddie picked up a rhythm, biting back soft noises of pleasure with every thrust. 

Roger heard himself make a sound that suspiciously resembled a sob and realised his arms had given in completely and his face was rubbing up against the pillow every time Freddie's hips hit his arse. The pain had subsided and in its stead he was left with an utterly overwhelming sensation, pleasurable in a way he couldn't begin to describe. Turned out being fucked was absolutely nothing like fucking someone. Who would have thought?  
Lifting himself back up onto his elbows, which seemed to be the best he could do, Roger slowly started to match Freddie's rhythm, pushing himself back against him. 

They were both moaning now as the sound of skin slapping on skin filled the room. 

"Oh god, Roggie, _oh fuck_ ," Freddie all but growled through gritted teeth, finally abandoning all caution, no longer holding back. And with that, Roger abandoned any pretence he had of still being in control and collapsed back onto the pillow, producing sounds he'd never known himself to make as he let the other man take him. Freddie couldn't keep up the fast pace for long and rolled his hips, breaking the rhythm and making them both whimper. When he brought it back down to a slower, sensual pace Roger reached up between his legs and started stroking his half hard cock. There was such a vast difference between being fucked and the pleasure he got from having his dick touched that it almost felt strange, at first.  
But then it was like two worlds colliding and slowly melding into one, and oh Jesus. _Oh Jesus fucking Christ._ It felt fucking amazing. He lost himself in it completely for a while. After some time, Freddie upped the pace again, and oh fuck. It felt so incredible. _Oh fuck_ , he was getting close again. 

"Don't stop," he half gasped, half whined, "Don't stop, please, _please_ -" 

"Ah! Fuck, darling-" 

"I'm, nghh, so- so fucking close-" 

Freddie renewed his grip on Roger's hips, holding him steady and then again pulling him into his thrusts and Roger lost his mind.

"Yeah, yeah! Ah! Fuck! Oh shiiiit-" 

Waves of sheer ecstasy hit him hard. He might have been embarrassed by the drawn-out, high-pitched outcry he produced, but it barely even registered. Freddie pounded him through his orgasm and came seconds later with a breathless, guttural moan, nails digging into his skin. 

They somehow collapsed on top of each other, bathed in sweat and trembling. Freddie swallowed and pressed a few tender kisses to his shoulder before he lifted himself up with a groan, and dropped down onto his back beside him. 

"God! That was fucking exhausting, I mean _really_ ," he complained. 

Their eyes met and Roger burst out laughing. He couldn't stop for quite some time, even though he barely had the breath for it. 

"What?" Freddie grinned, bringing a hand up to his mouth. "It's true!" 

As the laughter died down, Roger shifted closer to his boyfriend with a tired groan and plopped his head down on Freddie's shoulder, draping an arm over his chest. Ignoring the fact that he was soon going to be stuck to the sheets. To hell with it, he wasn't getting up right now. 

Freddie wrapped his arm around him, gently running his fingers up and down his shoulder. 

"How are you, lovvie?" 

"Yeah," Roger sighed, the tips of his fingers tracing the line of Freddie's collarbone from his shoulder down to his chest. "Fine."

Freddie was quiet for a minute or so, perhaps waiting for him to say something more, but Roger didn't really know what to say. His mind was blank and at the same time full of a million thoughts, buzzing in the background like white noise. He wasn't sure what he thought. He couldn't even begin to say what he _felt_. 

"Thank you," Freddie said warmly, turning toward him and nuzzling against the top of his head. "That was wonderful." 

Instead of a reply, Roger tilted his head up and scooted a bit higher up, leaning into a soft, leisurely kiss. 

"Suppose I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime," he murmured against Freddie's lips, and felt a small shiver run through him at the thought. 

Freddie pulled back a bit more and looked at him, a smile on his lips. 

"Once in a while, I suppose," He gave a little shrug, his smile widening. "I quite like it when you do all the work, if I'm honest." 

"Oi, lazy," Roger teased, poking him between the ribs and making him giggle. But he was glad to hear it, anyway. Because, if he was honest, he liked it that way, too. That was just one of the ways in which they were so perfect for each other, he thought, looking into Freddie's eyes. 

When he stopped laughing, Freddie lifted a hand to Roger's cheek. He brushed back his hair, his gaze travelling all over his face, taking in every feature. The small, content smile never left his lips. 

"Mine," Freddie whispered and his hand found Roger's, on top of his chest. 

"Yours," Roger murmured, peering up at him from beneath his lashes, his eyelids heavy. He had been exhausted from last night, but now he was positively ready to go back to sleep. Too relaxed and tired to so much as have a smoke, even though he kind of wanted one.

He blinked slowly a few times and then squinted at Freddie's face, frowning. 

"Hey." 

"Hmm?" 

"Is your hair different?" 

Freddie just laughed.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, you asked for a chapter of basically just smut, right? Oh, you didn't? Well, I hope you enjoyed it anyway!! 😜
> 
> Let me know in the comments!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings, I am BACK!
> 
> For those of you who do not spend much time on here or on Tumblr, I took a week out from continuing DoA and instead wrote 20.000 words for Froger week! I am linking all the Froger fics I wrote this last week in the notes after the story, many of them tie in with DoA.
> 
> Note about this chapter:  
> \- Freddie and Roger used to acquire their stock from "nefarious dealers" and customised much of it before they sold it
> 
> Enjoy!

\- - - 

"I've thought of something," Freddie informed him, over the three by four beat and folksy tune of the currently very much unseasonal _Wintertime Love_ from Roger's The Doors LP. 

_Wind is so cold, is that the reason?_  
_Keeping you warm, your hands touching me_

Roger shifted against the pillow wedged between his back and the metal bars of the headboard, his fingers playing with strands of Freddie's hair. 

"Yeah?" 

The older man was lying between his legs, half on top of him, head reclining against Roger's stomach and gazing up at the open window. This week they had discovered that it could get really quite hot in their flat, right under the roof, now that they were moving into summer and the sun was out in full force. It was well past sunset but the skylight was still wide open, the cooler air of the night finally providing pleasant relief to the sweltering heat of the day. 

"Yes," Freddie chewed on a nail, absently stroking Roger's knee with his other hand. "I'll ask Mary if she'd like to come along to the party with me, after the graduation ceremony."

Roger frowned. "I was gonna come to the party with you." 

"I know, I know," Freddie sighed, "You can always join us later, lovvie."

"Eh, it's alright," Roger shrugged, still frowning a little. "Brian wants to practice that night anyway seeing as we've got that gig in Hammersmith on Sunday and we can't get a rehearsal space on Saturday. He got pissy when I said I wasn't sure I could. And anyway, you'll be with your Ealing friends talking about _art_ and stuff, and I'll get bored and drunk."

Freddie chuckled. "I'm sorry you find my friends and I so boring, _god_." 

"Oh, you know what I mean." 

"Hmm," Freddie's fingers tickled his knee, drawing circles on his skin. "I suppose. Well, anyway... the trick'll be to have Mary meet me just as I'm saying goodbye to my family." 

"Ah." 

"Yes. They'll meet her, we'll exchange pleasantries, and off we go. My mother will know she exists, and no one will be any the wiser." 

"And you think that'll work? What if your mum opens with, 'Oh, you must be Freddie's girlfriend...!'" Roger wondered, focusing on the strands of Freddie's hair in his hands, intertwining them carefully. 

"She wouldn't," Freddie shook his head just a little, still chewing his nail. "She'll say 'I've heard so much about you', at worst. And as long as we leave for the party straight away, there won't be time for any more questions..." 

"I don't know," Roger wasn't convinced. It sounded like the sort of plan which could go spectacularly wrong. "Wouldn't it be easier to just ask Mary to pretend?" 

"No!" Freddie exclaimed. They had gone over this a few times already. "What would I tell her, Roger? What would I say? Please, my dear, could you pretend to be my girlfriend in front of my parents _because_ -" Freddie waved his hands, gesturing pointedly at thin air to illustrate the lack of an explanation which did not somehow involve a lot more information than he was willing to divulge. 

"Alright," Roger sighed, admiring his handiwork as he picked another three strands and started on a third miniature braid. "If you're sure it'll work..." 

"It _has_ to," Freddie uttered in a half whisper and then reached up, touching the top of his head. "Roger, what are you doing to my hair?" 

"Braiding it," Roger chuckled, amused at his wary, confused tone. 

Freddie's fingers inspected what had been done to his precious dark locks until Roger brushed them away. 

"Stop it, you'll mess it up." 

"Do I even want to know _why_ you know how to braid hair?" Freddie snorted. 

"Sister." Roger said simply. "How come _you_ don't know?" 

The record had finished. They could hear Big Ben chime in the distance, over the soundscape of the city below. Freddie lay in silence for a few moments before he replied. 

"We were never that close as children," he said quietly. "I wasn't there." 

\- - - 

Being out and about on a Thursday morning, with no classes to attend, knowing he'd never have to attend another one, felt like true freedom. True terrifying freedom, because suddenly his life had lost all its structure and nothing was certain anymore. But it was freedom nonetheless. 

Even though he was wondering how much longer he would get to enjoy it, given that they had been wandering around a decidedly shady part of town for a good fifteen minutes now and Freddie was starting to feel more than a little anxious about this whole enterprise.

"Where the fuck _is_ it?" Roger muttered under his breath, leaning into him a little as they sidestepped a sleeping (Freddie chose to believe he was sleeping) homeless man on the pavement. The strong odour of urine and alcohol combined hit their noses, drowning out the inescapable rancid smell which hung over this part of the Docklands like an invisible fog. 

"Cor." Roger grimaced. 

"I think that has to be it, right there," Freddie pointed down the street, toward a building that looked like a warehouse.

Roger shook his head with a snort and looked back over his shoulder, down the narrow, empty street, filthy with litter and debris. They had spotted a rat scuttling across the road in broad daylight only a few minutes ago. 

"Are you sure it's clothes we're buying?" Roger stuck his hands in his pockets, walking so close their elbows brushed. "Not cocaine?" 

Freddie chuckled. "I bloody well hope so!" 

"Maybe there's cocaine in the clothes," Roger waggled his eyebrows, grinning nervously and masking his discomfort with humour. "Imagine if there was! We'd make an absolute killing."

"Who would we even sell it to?" Freddie wondered, frowning with a bemused smile on his lips. 

"Everyone," Roger shrugged and stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth. "We'd be the most popular shop at the market!" 

Freddie laughed out loud and waved his hand, beckoning an imaginary clientele. "Yes, dears, come right in! This here is the changing room _and_ the powder room."

"Stand in line for a line!"

"Come for the clothes, stay to powder your nose!"

Roger grabbed on to Freddie's arm, doubling over with laughter. 

"Brilliant!"

They managed to get a hold of themselves again as they approached the warehouse and stopped, shuffling their feet. 

"Or we might get mugged and knifed, you never know," Freddie murmured, still attempting humour, although his tone of voice failed to entirely deliver it. He pulled his lip over his teeth, staring at the dents in the steel door and the rundown state of the building. 

Roger cast him a sideways glance. 

"Nah," he said, trying to sound dismissive, but Freddie could hear the nervous edge in his voice. "No one's gonna stab us over a couple of pounds. Not exactly worth it, is it?"

Freddie worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. "Suppose not." 

They exchanged a glance, amused at their situation and more scared than either of them wanted to admit. 

"Shall we just... not...?" Roger asked quietly. 

Freddie looked back at him uncertainly. "I mean... we're here now." 

Roger nodded. 

"Okay." 

Their hands found each other briefly, Roger gave his hand a tight squeeze and Freddie returned it before they let go again. 

"Alright." 

Bracing themselves for whatever fate might be awaiting them behind that door, they crossed the road and Roger raised a hand to knock. 

Good fortune was on their side. 

Ten minutes later, they were swiftly walking back to the bus stop with a burlap sack full of vintage clothes in tow, thankfully alive and unharmed. And giddy with excitement after what felt like a mad adventure that could have very easily gone very wrong. 

"His _eye_!" Freddie grinned, hiding his teeth behind his hand. 

"Fuck me, that eye was giving me the creeps!" Roger laughed, a little out of breath from the effort of carrying the bag which he had slung over his shoulder.

"Was it a glass eye?" 

"I think so!" Roger shook his head with a snicker. "Whose clothes are these, do you think?" 

"Oh, why would you even- I don't want to think about that!" Freddie eyed the bag briefly. "Whoever owned them had expensive taste, so let's assume they were stinking rich and none of it was missed," he added with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

They caught the bus to Trafalgar Square, sitting on the top deck at the front, overlooking the streets of London as the bus navigated through traffic.

"...load of shite anyway, you know?"

Freddie stared at the Royal Courts of Justice as the bus drove up to the Strand, not really seeing the beautiful architecture nor listening to Roger, who was beginning to realise he had effectively been talking _at_ him for the last ten minutes or so. 

"Fred."

"Hm?" Freddie blinked and jerked his head away from the window, turning to look at him. "Come again? I wasn't listening, darling, I'm sorry."

Roger gave him a mildly exasperated look. 

"Sorry," Freddie repeated, pulling his lips over his teeth. "Tell me?" 

"It's not that important," Roger murmured, leaning forward and looking out of the front window. "I was just saying Tim thinks he knows best and he really doesn't." 

"Oh," Freddie tugged at the ends of his hair, drifting off into his own thoughts again without meaning to. Tomorrow was his graduation ceremony, which his family would be attending. Tomorrow was also the day he would attempt to convince his parents that he was, as a matter of fact, dating Mary. Without Mary's knowledge. Roger was right, he thought anxiously, it was a harebrained idea. Completely mad. Why had he ever believed it might work? One wrong word from his family, one wrong word from Mary-

"Freddie!" 

Freddie jumped, turning back to Roger once again, eyebrows raised.

"Bloody hell, I might as well be talking to this sack," Roger nudged the sack of clothes between them with his foot. "What's the matter with you?"

It was as if he had swallowed his tongue. Freddie opened his mouth and tried to answer, but genuinely couldn't. In his head, his thoughts kept spiralling. Mad. Bound to go wrong. Disaster. He'd set an inescapable disaster of a plan in motion and now there was no stopping it. And if he was put on the spot, if he was _found out_ , how would he cope? He wouldn't. He couldn't cope. His lips felt incredibly dry, all of a sudden. His heart was racing and it was making him feel unpleasantly faint and nauseous. Roger's expression changed from annoyance to concern. 

"What's wrong?"

Freddie shook his head, propping is feet up on the ledge of the window in front of him and leaning away from Roger, trying to act casual and desperately failing. 

"Nothing, dear." 

Before Roger could say anything, Freddie's eyes fixated on the bus stop down the road. The irrational urge to get off the bus immediately overwhelmed him. 

"Shall we get off? Let's get off here," he muttered quickly, planting his feet back on the floor and lifting himself up in one sudden, determined move.

"What? Why? We're not..." Roger trailed off as Freddie stepped over the bag and squeezed past his legs, heading for the stairs. "Jesus, wait up, will you?" 

For some reason, the distance from the top of the staircase to the doors felt excruciatingly far. He just wanted to get out, he just had to get out of this damn bus and catch his breath, Freddie told himself, willing it to stop already when he reached the doors, his hand clammy on the metal pole he was clinging to. 

He closed his eyes for a moment.

_Breathe._

The bus was slowly pulling up at the stop. 

_Breathe._

The doors opened. 

Freddie jumped out even as he opened his eyes and took a few swift steps down the road, away from the other people, ducking out of the way of passerbys and accidentally bumping into a heavyset man. 

"Oi!" the man grumbled, shooting him a disgruntled look. "Mind where you're going!" 

Freddie raised a hand in lieu of an apology, backing away from him. 

"Bloody pakis," the man scoffed as he turned and continued on his way. Roger glared at him in passing before he caught up to Freddie. 

"Hey, what the hell's going on?" 

The younger man fell into step with him. "Freddie, wait! Where are you even going?" 

Freddie realised he didn't know and stumbled to a halt by the wall of a building, falling against it with one shoulder. He looked down at his feet as if they might have answers, hands by his sides and hails digging into his palms. 

Roger came around to face him, put the sack down and lay a hand on his arm. 

"Hey. What's going on? Look at me."

"I don't want to," Freddie uttered before he could stop himself, and half turned away, leaning his elbow against the wall and covering his eyes with his hand. 

"Give me a moment," he swallowed, willing his mind and his heart to stop racing so, "Please just give me a moment." 

Roger did. Freddie drew a few deep breaths, biting his lower lip so much it hurt, trying to latch on to something, anything that could get him away from this awful sensation of dread and helplessness. 

"... Can I hug you?" Roger asked hesitantly, after a little while. "Do you want me to?" 

"Yes," Freddie breathed, and then Roger's arms were around him, embracing him tightly. The other man's familiar scent and warmth anchored him to reality. His even breath made Freddie's own breath slow down. His fists were clenched around handfuls of Roger's shirts, Freddie realised, but didn't let go for some time. 

_Safe_. 

"You okay?" Roger asked, one hand soothingly rubbing his back.

"Mhm." 

He wasn't. But he was going to be. 

Freddie pulled away sooner than he would have liked, painfully aware that they were on a busy street and wanting nothing less than to attract unwanted attention. But he felt a little better. No longer so dizzy and disorientated. No longer so irrationally terrified, although there was a haunting, unpleasant sensation in his chest that persisted. A shadow of fear, shame and anxiety. 

"What happened?" Roger asked, searching his eyes when he finally glanced up at him. 

Shame took over. Freddie looked away and leaned his back against the wall, reaching for his cigarettes.

"Just a dizzy spell," he muttered under his breath and frowned, aggressively annoyed at himself. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry," Roger took the cigarette Freddie handed him, digging his matches out of his pocket. "I thought I'd done something wrong for a moment there." 

"No, no, it wasn't you at all," Freddie sighed, leaning closer as Roger struck a match. They both lit their cigarettes with long drags. 

"I'm really sorry. I get them sometimes," Freddie exhaled, brows knotted, eyes on the pub across the road, the colourful flowers hanging outside the open windows. "Although not usually so often..." 

"Huh."

Roger was still watching him with considerable concern in his eyes. Freddie waved his hand. 

"It's just... don't you ever...?" He took another drag, wrapping an arm around himself, the cigarette held close to his lips. "It feels as if... as if my thoughts are grains of sand and they're all running through my fingers, and I can't stop them. And it makes me feel quite ill," he sighed, turning to look at his boyfriend with a wan smile, "Do you know what I mean?" 

Roger narrowed his eyes at him, eyebrows drawing closer together. "No?" 

"Well," Freddie averted his gaze. "Anyway." 

"I think you need a bite to eat, or something." Roger suggested. "I'm fucking starving." 

\- - - 

They finished their cigarettes and jumped on the tube at Embankment, making their way to High Street Kensington. Strange and a bit worrying as the whole incident on the bus had been, Roger had forgotten all about it by the time they were sitting on the floor, enjoying cold beans on toast for lunch as much as anyone could, and preparing to get stuck into sorting through their newly acquired wares. 

Roger made a retching noise and wrinkled his nose as he opened the sack.

"Blimey, I think something's died in here!" 

"Just tip it all out," Freddie sighed, hands on his hips. "The sooner we get through them, the sooner we can take them to get cleaned." 

"True," Roger agreed, and proceeded to empty the entire sack out onto the floor. 

Not much later their small bedsit was littered with vintage clothes as they sorted them into piles of those items which they could and couldn't use, those which needed fixing or revamping and those few which were good to go other than needing a clean. 

Freddie had discovered a whole bunch of silver jewellery inside a hideous purse and was perusing it with interest. 

"Look, I've found Brian the perfect birthday present," Roger grinned, throwing a fox fur scarf around his neck, head, paws and all.

Freddie laughed out loud, busy sliding a few large silver bracelets all the way up his arms to the ends of his t-shirt sleeves. "Dearie me! I'll give you a pound if you do it!" 

"Too mean," Roger shook his head with a snicker, thinking of his animal-loving friend, and pulled the fox fur off his neck. Freddie was admiring his arms. 

"That's not how bracelets work, Fred," Roger pointed out, smirking.

The raven-haired man stuck his tongue out at him. 

"Piss off, Roger. I'm pioneering a _look_." 

Roger laughed. 

"I'll give you a pound if you go out like that," he offered, waggling his eyebrows. 

"Maybe I'll wear it to the party tomorrow," Freddie told him boldly, drawing his shoulders back and stretching his arms out gracefully. However, the next moment his smile slipped and he hunched over, his radiance and confidence seeping out of him like water from a cracked glass. 

"You're worried?" Roger asked quietly. "About tomorrow?"

Freddie took off the bracelets, one by one, not looking up at him. "Of course I'm worried, Roger. How could I not be worried? You were right, it's a dreadful plan. I don't know why I ever thought it was a good idea." 

"I didn't say it was dreadful," Roger put the fur away and moved down onto the floor to sit beside him, reaching out to touch his knee. "It'll be fine. Look, we'll practice." 

Freddie looked up at him with a frown. "How?" 

"Simple," Roger shrugged. "Alright, so, you've done the whole ceremony bit and you've done the reception, you're chatting with your folks outside and here comes Mary." 

Freddie stared at him. Roger looked back at him expectantly, raising his eyebrows. 

"And you say?" 

"...This is Mary..." Freddie murmured hesitantly. 

"Okay," Roger nodded. "Oh, hello, Mary. Pleasure to meet you, we've heard so much about you!" 

Freddie gave a miserable sigh and shook his head, running a hand over his face. "I can't-" 

"What do you _say_?" Roger insisted. 

For a moment, the older man froze, hand over his mouth, looking at the opposite wall. Then he turned to Roger. 

"Yes, I've told them you work at Biba, just down the road from us. Mary, these are my parents and my sister."

"Everyone shakes hands," said Roger. "Usual pleasantries, and so on." 

"Anyway, we have to run," Freddie clasped his hands together. 

"Aww, already? But why?" asked Roger, feigning great disappointment. 

"Because...?" A panicked, beseeching look entered Freddie's eyes. 

"Because you'll miss your dinner reservation," Roger suggested with a shrug. "Your friends are waiting." 

Freddie frowned. "We're not having a sit down dinner..." 

Roger rolled his eyes. "Do your parents know that?" 

"Well, no, but- but what about Mary? Don't you think she'll have something to say about it if I start making up fake dinner reservations?" 

Roger waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, but only after you've gone and so what? Just tell her your parents are really overbearing and you didn't want her to have to answer dozens of questions. Tell her they do it to all of your friends and it's annoying."

"Huh," said Freddie as he chewed his bottom lip for a moment, mulling it all over. Roger could see him relax a little. "Thank you." 

Freddie's hand found his, lying on top of his knee. 

"It'll be fine," Roger assured him as he took Freddie's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "It's a good plan." 

For a long moment, Freddie looked at him intently, before he leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. They were both smiling when they pulled away. 

"Thank you, dearie." Freddie repeated. "Really." 

Roger put an arm around him and pulled him closer, and Freddie readily turned and lay himself down onto his lap, gazing up at him. 

"You're sure you don't want to come along a bit later, tomorrow?" 

Roger shook his head, combing his fingers through Freddie's hair. "Rehearsing. Brian's already organised the space." 

"Well, I wish you could," Freddie pouted, holding Roger's hand in his, against his chest. "I want to be with you always," he murmured, looking off to the side, his voice quiet but incredibly sincere. "I've thought about it and I don't think I could ever grow tired of being with you." He closed his eyes for a moment, concealing a small smile behind his lips. "I'm being terribly sentimental, aren't I? But it's true."

Roger continued to run his fingers through Freddie's hair, looking down at him and wishing he could put the all-encompassing warmth in his chest into words, but none of the words he could think of felt like they would do it justice. 

"I love you," he said, and it wasn't enough, but it was something.

There was a smile on Freddie's lips, his eyes still closed. "Do you promise?" 

"I promise." 

Dark eyelashes fluttered open. Freddie met his eyes. "Good." 

Roger leaned down and kissed his face. His brow, his cheeks, his lips and the tip of his nose. Freddie chuckled softly. 

"I just have one question," Roger said as he straightened up. "Doesn't Mary think you've asked her, you know… out? Like, on a date?" 

Freddie raised his eyebrows, blinking at him with a baffled expression on his face, as though the possibility had never even occurred to him. 

"I shouldn't think so," he replied. "We're friends, we've gone for coffee and the odd drink and whatnot."

"Alright," Roger shrugged and looked down at their intertwined fingers, running his thumb over the back of Freddie's hand.

"I don't get it," he murmured, after a few moments of silence. 

"What?" 

Roger shook his head. "Just thinking about that stupid tosser who called you a paki earlier." 

Freddie tutted dismissively. "Why." 

"Because I don't get it," Roger said, releasing Freddie's hand and holding his arm out next to his. "You're barely even darker than me. People are bonkers."

Freddie looked at him with a pensive smile and sighed.

"Oh Roggie, you are a dear." 

\- - - 

Roger's eyes were fixed on the clock on the classroom wall. 

Half past six.

"Alright, let's take it from the top."

"I think we sped up a bit there."

"I think you're right actually. Rog?" 

The reception had probably already ended. 

"Roger!" 

"Huh? What?" 

"Are you with us?" 

"Yeah. From the top. Sure." 

"If you want to take a break-" 

"No, I'm good. Let's go." 

'Please be alright. Please, be alright.' 

\- - - 

Freddie tumbled in through the door just after midnight, slamming it behind himself a bit more enthusiastically than he intended to.

"Oh my," he cringed at the loud slam and promptly snorted with laughter, catching himself with one hand on the wall as he almost fell over his own feet. Maybe that last drink had been too much. Or the one before that. 

"Sorry, lovvie," he murmured in a belated, rather moot stage whisper to Roger, who was lying on their bed - well, Freddie's bed, technically, but who were they kidding? - watching him with an amused grin.

"Hello there." Roger said, lowering a worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Freddie had been trying to get him to see the epic tale's merit for a while, and had finally badgered him into reading it. 

"Hello there yourself," Freddie slurred, leaning against the wall and tilting his head to one side with a radiant smile on his face, one hand on his hip. It could have passed for an alluring pose, if he hadn't been so blatantly drunk. 

Roger put the book aside and sat up on the bed cross-legged. "Well? How'd it go?"

"Fantastic!" Freddie exclaimed, throwing an arm up in the air. "I-" he hiccuped, but didn't let that deter him from the grandness of his statement, "am a _genius_."

"That's amazing." Roger shook his head with a chuckle, somewhere between mild disbelief and genuine joy, and watched Freddie sway precariously as he gave a theatrical bow. Once down there, he decided he better take off his shoes and fumbled with the laces which did not want to obey his fingers. Or was that his fingers which were refusing to cooperate? It was hard to tell, what with the floor spinning. 

"You alright there?"

"Yesss..." Freddie sighed, carefully straightening back up while he kicked one shoe into the corner of the room, an elated expression on his face. And not only because the platform shoes were a literal pain at this point of the night.

Somehow, miraculously, he had pulled off the seemingly impossible, and neither his family nor Mary, who he had spent a really quite pleasant evening with, had any idea. The whole thing could not have gone better. He'd never felt so relieved in all his life. 

Freddie carelessly kicked his second shoe aside and dragged himself to the bed, dropping down diagonally across it beside Roger. 

"Hi," he grinned up at his boyfriend and lifted an uncoordinated hand to the other man's cheek. "You're so," Freddie suppressed another hiccup, his voice suddenly deeply earnest, "beautiful... _God_ , how are you so beautiful...?"

Roger gazed down at him fondly, a crooked smile on his lips, and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Freddie's ear. 

"You're completely wankered," he said affectionately, "Aren't you." 

Freddie caught Roger's hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing his fingers. 

"Pish posh," he protested half-heartedly, an abashed smile on his face. "It's only that... I happen to be in love." The smile widened into a grin. "With you... I might've mentioned it..."

"Hmm, you might've." 

"Roger," Freddie sighed. 

"Freddie." 

"Rrrroger Taylor." 

"Frederick Bulsara-" 

"Nono, shush, darling. I hate my name, shhh... but _you_ , I love you. I love you, so much..." Freddie rambled drunkenly, but genuinely passionate, and pressed his lips to each of Roger's fingertips in turn, eyes falling shut. "...so much... so much..."

"Christ, how much have you had to drink?" Roger asked with a soft chuckle. 

" _So much_ ," Freddie replied, and broke out laughing again, intertwining their fingers and pulling Roger down into his arms. 

\- - - 

It was the last weekend of June and summer had well and truly arrived. The park was full of people lounging on the grass. Families, couples and girls sunbathing. Roger had his eye on one of the latter, a right knockout in a flimsy dress so short it barely covered her arse, large sunglasses and glossy auburn hair. She was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, her ample bosom on display. Roger took a drag of his cigarette, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses and legs outstretched as he lounged on the park bench beside Brian, who was finishing his sandwich. Roger had wolved his down, starving because he had, as per usual when left to his own devices, skipped breakfast. He could never be bothered with eating if Freddie wasn't eating, and Freddie had been too hung over to so much as keep a sip of water down this morning. 

"You know something? I reckon the hippies have got the right idea," Roger said, changing the subject after a moment of silence. They had just been talking about an upcoming meeting with Mercury Records in the coming week, putting together a list of questions lest they should forget to ask them. 

Brian swallowed the bite he was chewing. "In what way?" 

The girl on the grass turned over onto her back, stretching her arms out above her head. 

"Free love," Roger said, ashing his cigarette beside the bench, his elbow on the armrest. "Open relationships and all that." 

Brian cast him a sideways glance and seemed to consider it as he chewed his last bite, wiping his fingers on a tissue. 

"I mean," Roger took another drag, a frown on his face, "getting married is a terrible idea. Who really wants to have sex with the same person for the rest of their life?" 

"Marriage isn't just about sex, you know," Brian pointed out. 

"Yeah, but it's part of it." Roger maintained, his eyes wandering from the girl to a bloke close by who was reclining in the grass, reading a book. "It's a big part of it." 

"So you don't believe in monogamy?" Brian wondered, leaning back beside him. 

"Dunno," Roger shrugged. "I think... not really, 'cause it's a social construct, you know?" 

As he looked on, the bloke ran a hand through his hair and glanced up. Roger took in his features and his shape, slender but noticeably toned, beneath the tight t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. Objectively, Roger thought, that lad was quite good-looking. Roger tried to imagine finding him attractive, and couldn't. His eyes slowly wandered back to the girl. 

"Swans are monogamous," Brian said.

"Okay?" said Roger, not entirely sure what that had to do with anything. "Well, I'm not a swan, last time I checked. And I really can't imagine fucking one and the same person for forty years, excuse my French. I don't know about you." 

Brian snorted, shaking his head. "I've not really thought about it that much, to be honest with you."

The truth, Roger thought, was that he wasn't sure if he could imagine never sleeping with a girl again. Which was neither here nor there, he told himself. Because he was only (almost) twenty, after all, and life was long. And he really didn't have a single clue why he'd even started thinking about it like that in the first place. As if there was a chance that-

As if he would have liked for there to _be_ a chance that-

The truth, Roger thought, was that he couldn't imagine not loving Freddie anymore. 

Ever. 

And wasn't that a scary thought? 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I really missed writing DoA, but here is what I've written in the meantime:
> 
> [A Zombie Apocalypse AU, not related to DoA but (I think) hilarious!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309049/chapters/50744323)
> 
> [A sweet piece of mildly angsty fluff, set in the DoA 'verse.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21320476)
> 
> [A "missing scene" set sometime after this chapter, probably!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21332110)
> 
> [Glorious smut, set in 1975, DoA universe.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345121)
> 
> [Some very heavy angst, set in 1983, also DoA universe.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354805)
> 
> And last but not least, a wonderful talented author wrote a piece which is essentially fanfic for DoA! Can you believe it?? It's set in the DoA verse, in 1979. [Check it out and leave them a comment!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352084)


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is fighting their own battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:  
> \- After signing Smile and recording a single, Mercury Records decided to only release said single on the US market. It was subsequently never released in the UK.
> 
> Hello, my darlings! I continue to be absolutely blown away by your support, your lovely comments and just everything! I am so lucky, I love to talk to you, please never hesitate to drop me a line. :)
> 
> Chapter 40, can you believe it?? Crazy! 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, JM Laurence! 💕

\- - - 

Roger had never been a secretive person. There were few things about himself he would not happily divulge, even in the company of complete strangers, as long as they seemed kind and friendly enough. None of his friends would ever be left wondering what he thought or felt. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his reactions to any given situation were instantaneous and genuine. He was quick to anger, quick to forgive and quick to love, every emotion but a fleeting state until the next took hold of him. 

And so, the fact that there was a part of his life he had never _really_ spoken about to anyone with the exception of his sister, was something that surprised even himself. When he remembered it. Because most of the time, especially since moving to London, he chose to forget. So deep lay it buried, in a desperate attempt to put it out of his mind and never dwell on it, that it felt like it almost wasn't real. Those feelings did not seem to belong to him. Those memories, even though he knew they were his, might as well have been from another lifetime. 

It was easier that way. 

But as with any wound, so thoroughly ignored and left to fester, all it could ever do was scab over for a while. Until his mother's voice on the telephone sounded a little too feeble, and her quiet laughter more like sigh. Until Clare asked him for the third time that month when he was coming home, and if it was soon, and then that old wound reopened and bled. 

Bled through his entire being like a dark red torrent of impotent fury, guilt and hopelessness. 

And always, just before it could drown him completely, he locked it all away once more. 

\- - - 

The meeting was moved to mid-week, then to the end of the week. Something about flight delays and last minute business meetings in New York. It wasn't until Thursday afternoon when Smile found themselves sitting opposite John Anthony, Lou Reizner and an American Mercury Records' executive, a man exuding such an air of importance that it felt intimidating. 

The meeting itself was brief and to the point. Roger was sure there were at least a couple of questions they forgot to ask, and before they knew it, they were being escorted out by their producer. 

"Don't worry, boys." John said, patting Brian on the back as the doors opened with a cheerful _ding_. John ushered them into the lift, a placating smile on his face. "Look at it as an opportunity." 

Tim and Brian smiled politely, nodding their heads and saying their goodbyes as the lift doors closed with John on the other side, the Mercury Records logo large and imposing on the wall behind him. 

"Bye," Roger muttered belatedly, brows furrowed. He didn't feel like smiling, not even for the sake of politeness. He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one before the lift reached the ground floor, stepping out into the lobby ahead of the others as he marched to the door with quick, angry strides. 

No sooner outside, Roger spun around to face his bandmates who had followed him out and threw his arms out to the sides in aggravated disbelief. 

"This is a fucking _joke_!" 

"Come on," Brian sighed, inclining his head in that way he reserved for the times when he thought Roger was being unreasonable. Roger could feel his jaw tense and stared back at him, daring him to say that this wasn't complete _bullshit_. 

"Look, I'm not happy about it either," Brian said, choosing his words carefully, as they started walking down the road. "But John's right, we should look at it as an opportunity." 

"Exactly," Tim agreed. "If we break into the charts in the U.S., just think... Wouldn't that be amazing?" 

"But it doesn't make any fucking sense!" Roger's raised voice drew the attention of passer-bys. Brian glanced around and lay a hand on his arm, manoeuvring him out of people's way, before Roger shook him off, bristling with anger. He sucked on his cigarette aggressively and narrowed his eyes, huffing out the smoke. 

"People know us _here_! We've got people waiting- _waiting_! To buy our record! HERE!" He looked over at Brian and Tim, not quite understanding why they weren't also furious. "And now? What the fuck do we tell everyone? Oh yeah, that record we're making? The one we've been talking about for months? The one that Tim has _literally_ been telling you will be out soon at every gig?! Yeah, that's not happening now! Nevermind! It's fucking embarrassing, is what it is!"

"Roger, it _is_ happening!" Brian pointed out, raising his voice a little in return. "Just not here, not right away. That's all!" 

"But WHY NOT!?" Roger stared back at him, the cigarette in his hand burning away, momentarily forgotten, as he raged about the unfairness of the decision the record company had made. "No one could bloody well answer that properly! They just kept saying they think it's _a good idea_ -" He drew air quotes. "trying the American market first, but it doesn't fucking make sense because our fans are NOT IN FUCKING AMERICA! Why can't they release it here _and_ there at the same time, WHY?!"

"I don't know what you're shouting at Brian for!" Tim cut in. "It's not like we can do anything about it, okay? So will you just fucking relax for a minute?"

"Well, obviously we can't bloody do anything about it 'cause you two are too busy nodding and smiling rather than say what we're all thinking!" Roger shot back. 

Between all the shouting, they had come to a halt, facing each other. Brian stood off to the side, looking back and forth between them with a frown. 

"Well!" Tim scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Roger. "You know what I'm thinking? I think you're overreacting! Just for a change!"

"Well, I think you're _under_ reacting!" 

A part of Roger was aware that this wasn't the most intelligent or mature comeback, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted dismissively in response, and Roger's anger hit boiling point. He tossed his cigarette aside, eyes glinting dangerously. 

"Oh, go _fuck_ yourself, why don't you!"

"Excuse me?" Tim shot him a glare and took a step toward him. 

"Roger," Brian was glowering at him, one hand on Tim's shoulder at the same time, trying to move him back. But Tim wasn't having it. 

"Fuck you, too!" Tim spat back, pulling out of Brian's grasp. "I've had just about enough of your shitty attitude, you know!" 

" _My_ shitty attitude?!" Roger retorted, incredulous, and got right up into the other man's face. "You think anyone who doesn't agree with every last fucking word that comes out your mouth has an _attitude_!? Piss off, Tim!" 

"What the fuck is your problem!" 

"YOU'RE MY FUCKING PROBLEM!" 

"Stop it, both of you! For fuck's sake!"

Brian, ever the voice of reason - except in the few instances when he wasn't - very nearly managed to separate them, for a moment.

And he would have succeeded, too, if Tim hadn't picked that exact moment to give Roger, who was rather aggressively invading his personal space, a shove. 

The younger man staggered back, found his footing, and immediately shoved Tim even harder, sending him stumbling. 

"Are you serious right now!" Brian exclaimed. "ROGER!" 

"HE PUSHED _ME_!" Roger yelled, head snapping to Brian. 

"Because you wouldn't get out of my face, you prick!" Tim hissed, looking just about as furious as their drummer now. 

Or perhaps, not quite. Because in that moment, Roger was livid beyond all common sense, hands balled into fists and itching to take a swing at _some_ thing, if not Tim. Not much was stopping him, other than a last shred of self-restraint. 

"Fuck you! You wanna do this?! Yeah?!" 

They were chest to chest again in seconds, staring each other down. Brian elbowed his way between them and lay his hands on Tim's shoulders. 

"STOP IT! What's gotten into you, for crying out loud!" 

He wheeled around to Roger with a face like thunder. "And you! What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" 

"I've had ENOUGH OF HIM!" Roger yelled, staring daggers at Tim over Brian's shoulder. The small part of him which still remembered that throwing a punch at one of his bandmates, no matter how much he wanted to, probably wasn't the best idea in the world was all that kept his hands still. Fists clenched so tightly they shook. But the frustration and ire wanted out. Growling through his teeth, he turned on his heel, strode to the wall of the nearest building, and proceeded to kick it repeatedly with all his strength, accompanied by a very colourful string of curses. Until finally, the white hot pain in his toes forced him to stop. Roger stood, panting and trembling with tumultuous emotion, and slowly turned back over his shoulder. His friends were watching him warily. Even Tim looked more concerned than pissed off now. 

"Rog..." Brian's voice was gentle, and Roger hated that, because he wanted to keep yelling. He wanted to cling on to the anger, like a protective shield, warding off the fear and anxiety which lay beneath. 

Because it wasn't Tim at all he was angry with. Not really. 

Because the entire time, sitting in that meeting, listening to the three men in whose hands their fate lay casually discuss what a marvellous idea it was to release Smile's record in America instead of the UK, how the market for British rock n' roll was expanding stateside and drawling about priorities and strategy, all Roger could think was that he would have to face going home to Truro soon. Because the one thing he had clung to, whenever that sinking feeling in his gut overwhelmed him, reminding him that he had been lying to his family for two months about dropping out of college, was knowing he would return home a recording rock n' roll artist in the making and proudly stand his ground, knowing that soon every record shop would carry Smile's music. Assuring his parents that he was going somewhere in life. That he had a plan. Ensuring his mother needn't worry about him, and that his father had no grounds to accuse her of being the reason that he was such a failure and disappointment of a son. 

Being told that there was no longer any plan to release their single in the UK, _at all_ , had pulled the rug right out from under his feet. 

America felt distant and unreal. And Roger felt that he was, for all senses and purposes, left with nothing. 

"M'sorry," he mumbled eventually as the adrenaline began to drain away. Even though he had lowered his eyes to the ground, he could see Brian move toward him in the periphery of his vision and quickly turned his back, hoping that was enough to indicate his unwillingness to address what had just happened. 

There was an uncomfortably long silence, before Tim cleared his throat and spoke up. 

"How about that drink? I reckon we could all use one." 

It was an olive branch, graciously extended to him. Roger felt like shit. 

"Yeah," he glanced back over his shoulder, not quite looking at the others. "Let's."

They slowly started walking again, in the vague direction of the tube station, and fell into step with each other. Brian ruffled his hair, which was trying its best to return to its natural, curly state. 

"Somewhere around here?"

"I told Fred to come meet us at the Kensington at seven," Roger informed them quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Wasn't sure how long the meeting would take." 

"Kensington it is," said Tim lightly, peering at him out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, uhm... I'm sorry I pushed you." 

Roger snorted, a hint of a smile on his lips. "S'okay. Sorry I almost decked you." 

"I would've bloody decked you both if you hadn't stopped," Brian said sternly, and both Tim and Roger broke out laughing. 

"What?" Brian narrowed his eyes at them as they entered the station. "I mean it!" 

\- - - 

'I don't have the faintest idea what to do with myself now!' Freddie kept saying ever since he had graduated, but to Roger it seemed as though he knew very well. 

Sitting on his bed, his long, slender fingers danced over the strings lightly yet clumsily, searching for the next chord to match the words he had jotted down in the notebook in front of him. 

After the third exasperated sigh, Roger spoke up. 

"What's it you're looking for? F sharp?" 

"Not sure," Came the curt reply. 

For a little while, Roger watched him struggle to find the right finger position. 

"... Want me to show you?" 

The 'no' that followed was stubborn, almost petulant. Roger wisely didn't push it and returned to his book, half listening to the guitar strumming while he read.  
Pushing the nagging feeling of inadequacy out of his mind, when he thought about how little he had truly _done_ with his free time since he had quit college, in a creative sense. Trying to convince himself that if he'd _really_ wanted to, he could. He _could_ have written a song, too.

\- - - 

It had been a gorgeous day. The last rays of bright golden late afternoon sun warmed Freddie's back when he left home, several necklaces jangling around his neck and wearing his favourite white ensemble accentuated with a red belt, eyes lined with kohl just so. 

The hustle and bustle of the high street, both so familiar and yet always new and exciting, filled him with an unparalleled, delightful buzz. Light on his feet, soaring on the wings of determination and tentative confidence, Freddie felt on top of the world. The heart of London was his stage and on it he shone, delighting in the glances thrown his way and wondering if the people brushing past him and making way for him knew they were looking at _a star_. 

Freddie breezed into the Kensington, a smile on his face, and cast a look around the crowded pub. He spotted them not a minute later, sitting all together on the large windowsill of one of the opened windows on the other side of the room, facing the back street. His smile widened as he made his way through the pub, coming up behind them unseen. Freddie was just about to grab on to Roger's shoulders to try and give him scare when he heard his name, curiosity prompting him to pause for a second. 

"... Fred coming then?" Tim was saying. 

"How should I know?" Roger replied, his tone of voice decidedly disgruntled. 

Freddie's smile slipped a little. It was only half past seven, surely being a little late to the pub wasn't a big deal? He hesitated where he stood, just within earshot, as Roger continued. 

"He's probably busy _writing songs_ or whatever," his boyfriend muttered, the emphasis altogether not a favourable one. Freddie frowned, a twinge of insecurity creeping in. Was Roger cross with him for some reason? 

"Oh yeah?" Brian asked, sounding genuinely curious. "With us in mind or... ?" 

"No. I don't know." Roger shrugged. "Christ knows who they're for." 

"Well, are they any good?" Tim wanted to know. 

Roger gave another non-committal shrug. "Hard to tell, you know? Seeing as he only knows about five guitar chords."

Freddie felt as if the air had been knocked right out of him. He retreated a few steps, bumping into a table. Then he turned and his feet carried him to the door on instinct, a lump in his throat the size of a cricket ball. 

It stung. It hurt like a slap in the face when he'd least expected it, a shocking, shameful pain, constricting his chest. He suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed over every time he'd so much as spoken to Roger about what he was writing, nevermind the times he'd shown him some of it. Clearly all of it was stupid, pointless tripe, or so Roger thought anyway. 

God, was that _really_ what he thought? 

Freddie pulled his lips taut over his teeth, biting down on them, eyes on the pavement as he pushed past people on the street. Walking toward home on auto-pilot even though he wasn't sure where he was going, only sure that he didn't want to be anywhere near Roger and the others right now, Freddie was startled when suddenly, a familiar voice called his name. 

"Freddie!" 

He came to a halt, trying to pull himself together before he turned around, giving the girl behind him a tight-lipped smile. 

"Mary," he said quietly, and cleared his throat, self-consciously running a hand through his hair and briefly eyeing his reflection in the shop window. "Hi." 

"Hi," Mary smiled her sweet, shy smile, clutching her bag as she stepped closer. Her eyebrows rose up as she looked him up and down. "I really like your belt." 

"Oh, thank you, dear," Freddie murmured, tugging at it a little. 

"I'm sorry, are you in a hurry? I don't mean to keep you." 

"No," Freddie shook his head, trying his best to turn his attention to her, as to not appear rude. "Have you just finished work?" 

"Yes..." 

Mary tilted her head, gazing at him intently. Freddie lowered his eyes. 

"Is everything alright?" 

"Yes, everything's fine," he lied, fiddling with the silver rings on his fingers. "Just... just a long day." 

Mary nodded sympathetically and sighed. "Yeah, me too..." 

This prompted Freddie to take a moment and look at her. _Really_ look at her. Her smile was weary, a tired look in her eyes. A few blond strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. Freddie felt himself relax a little as the stifling hold of hurt and embarrassment slipped. If only by virtue of focusing on something, or rather someone, other than himself. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and tilted his head to the side, suddenly no longer in a hurry to bid her farewell. "Are you heading home then?" 

"I am," Mary replied, but did not follow it up with a goodbye. Instead she adjusted the strap of her bag, glancing around the busy street. 

"Do you perhaps fancy a cup of tea before you go?" Freddie heard himself ask. The thought of going home only to sit there and think about what he had just overheard was dreadful. He didn't want to leave Mary's company. He didn't want to return to his own thoughts, or be left alone with them. Fortunately, her face brightened as she met his eyes again. 

"I'd love a cup of tea," she replied, and hid her smile behind her hand. 

\- - - 

"... Seeing as he only knows about five guitar chords," Roger snorted, his mood not much improved since they had arrived at the pub. In the silence that followed, both Tim and Brian seemingly unsure of what to say to that, he took a drag from his cigarette and thought of the last thing Freddie had read out to him. He had been lying with his head on Roger's lap, his notebook in one hand, the other dancing gracefully as he gave the words life. Roger couldn't recall it word for word now. Something utterly fantastical, it had been. Something about horses with eagle wings, fairy folk and dragons. It could have come straight out of Lord of the Rings, which Roger was quickly gaining an appreciation for, but it wasn't even that. It was strange, mystical and _inspired_ , and it had made him feel like he'd never had a truly original thought in all his life. 

"You know," he sighed, flicking his cigarette away, a frown on his face. "they are, actually. They _are_ good. Just... different." 

"Different can be good," said Brian.

"Yeah," Roger agreed, and thought of Freddie and everything he was. 

Different didn't cover it. 

Freddie was _unique_. 

Completely, amazingly and breathtakingly unique. 

\- - - 

The remaining tea in Freddie's cup had long gone cold in the mug on the bedside table. Mary's was forgotten on the floor, by the foot of the bed. 

"And so," Freddie said, glancing up at her briefly with a twinkle in his eye, before he returned his attention to the guitar and his notebook, double checking that he had the chords right, "it would go something like this... but a little faster, perhaps, imagine it a little faster. Um, bear with me," he chuckled, embarrassed as he still managed to strum the wrong chord at first. "Here we go."

He wasn't sure what had prompted him to pull his notebook out, or perhaps it was that she had picked it up as she sat down on his bed, but here he was. Softly singing the beginning of what was quickly turning into his very own fantasy epic to her, half choked up with nerves and half determined to prove himself. Because to hell with what Roger or anyone else thought, this was not tripe and it wasn't _bad_. This was- it was _some_ thing and Freddie had faith in it. So what if he couldn't play the guitar very well? He could hear the music in his head, and it was _all there_. His eyes flicked up to Mary as he sang, heart swelling with pride at the rapt fascination on her face. When he trailed off, a small grin on his face, she clapped her hands and gave a chuckle. 

"And that's it, I- I don't have more so far..." 

"It's wonderful..."

"I know it isn't much-" 

"Freddie, I _love_ it."

Freddie stopped fidgeting his hands over the guitar strings and met her eyes again, pulling his lip over his teeth. 

"Do you really?" 

Mary nodded, her eyes large and sincere. "I love it. You absolutely _have_ to finish it." 

"I will." Freddie nodded, so thrilled with her approval he might have spontaneously hugged her if he hadn't been holding a guitar. "Thank you."

She laughed again, softly and melodiously. "I should thank you, this is..." Mary lowered her eyes, running her fingers over the sheets, along the side of his leg. "This is a lovely way to spend an evening." 

"Well, I'm glad you think so!" Freddie said excitedly, reaching down to take her hand and giving it a little squeeze before he stood up to put the guitar away. "I'll make sure to run all my songs by you in the future," he told her with a wink, making her giggle, and returned to the bed, plopping down beside her. 

He was about to point out the time, because surely she had to be starving and dinner was waiting for her at home, but the way she was looking at him brought him up short. There was something intense and unwavering about her gaze. It lacked its usual shyness and instead made _him_ feel a little shy, somehow.

"What is it?" Freddie asked with an awkward chuckle, glancing down at his hands. 

"I..." Mary started, and immediately averted her eyes as well, tugging at the end of her ponytail. "Just, _you_ ," she said quietly, "I don't think anyone's ever taken the time to get to know me so well. Usually they just..." 

She didn't finish the sentence and sat chewing her bottom lip. Freddie watched her out of the corner of his eye, his heart beating a little faster than it had a moment ago as he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the painfully obvious. Only it was as frightening and confusing as it was admittedly flattering and a little exciting. 

Because Mary wasn't _just a friend_. Was she, really? She hadn't been _just a friend_ for some time. Perhaps never. Not when he often and really rather shamelessly engaged in flirtatious conversation with her at the boutique, over coffee or drinks. Definitely not when they had drunkenly danced together at the party, arms wrapped around each other and breathing each other's warmth. But it was easier, so much easier, to tell himself that this wasn't _anything_. And it wasn't. After all, he wasn't after anything. It was all just a game, a bit of harmless flirtation. A thrilling boost to his confidence. 

It was _nice_ to be desired. Adored. Wanted. It was fun and safe, playing at the game of love without any intention of engaging in it seriously. But it was at this moment when Freddie realised that he had failed to consider one thing. 

He was the only one who was still _just playing_.

\- - - 

"You look like you've murdered someone," Roger snickered when Freddie turned around to him, his arms stained with smudges of red paint up to his elbows. Freddie gave a theatrical evil laugh. Roger shook his head with a grin, drying his hands on the dish cloth before he crossed over to his boyfriend and sat down on the floor beside him. 

"Um," he squinted at the large paper on the floor, tilting his head this way and that. "I'm... not sure what I'm looking at?" 

"Me neither, if I'm honest!" Freddie chuckled lightly, putting his brush to the paper, "I'm just trying to use up all this leftover paint..."

He gave Roger a sly sideways glance and promptly leaned over, running the tip of the brush across his chest. 

"Oi!" Roger blinked, mouth agape, looking back and forth between Freddie and the red smudge on his skin. It was a hot afternoon and they had both stripped down to nothing but their underwear - well, his pyjama shorts, in Roger's case. It had been an entirely unproductive, comfortably lazy day and neither of them had felt like leaving the house at all. 

Freddie was grinning mischievously at him, slowly bringing the brush closer and closer to Roger's belly button. 

"Listen here," Roger warned, raising an eyebrow. "Keep doing that and I'm gonna rub myself all over you." 

Freddie snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Sounds _filthy_." 

"Oh, it will be." Roger assured him playfully. 

Freddie proceeded to slowly paint a line from Roger's belly button all the way up to his chest, watching his stomach twitch.

"Tickles..." 

The dark-haired man put the brush down and scooped some of the paint up on his finger, decorating Roger's chest with a few red swirls. Then he hummed, admiring his handiwork. 

"I'm sorry," he sighed, and met Roger's eyes with a half-hooded gaze. "I can't improve on this. You're already a work of art." 

Roger reached over and cupped the back of Freddie's neck, pulling him into a kiss. Freddie's fingers splayed out on his chest, spreading the paint across his skin even as he moaned into his mouth. 

Making good on his promise, Roger pulled Freddie into his lap and pressed their bodies together, his mouth descending to his neck and painting red marks of its own. 

They were both covered in paint not much later, and spent much of the evening spotting and removing stains from the floor amidst laughter. 

\- - - 

If Roger's mood had at all improved at the pub, then it wasn't for long. Freddie being late was one thing and not a big deal. But Freddie not showing up at all was not only very odd, but disconcerting. However, given Roger's state of mind, he was far more pissed off than worried, and quite convinced that Freddie must have somehow, unbelievably, forgotten. 'What the fuck?' he thought to himself, by the time he had left Tim and Brian and started making his way home. 

As he was walking up to their house, the front door opened and a girl stepped outside. Her blond ponytail bounced as she jogged down the stairs, turning right into him when he approached.

"Oh, hi Roger," Mary greeted him with a quick smile, not stopping on her way. "Sorry, I have to catch the train." 

"Uh, hi," Roger blinked, utterly stunned by her presence for a moment. "Yeah... sure." 

He turned and stared after her as she continued down the road, then looked up at their house. 

'What the fuck?'

Had Freddie really blown him off in order to hang out with his _pretend girlfriend_? 'What the actual fuck?' 

Confused, annoyed and deeply frustrated with _everything_ , Roger climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to find Freddie in the kitchenette, peering inside the fridge. 

"I don't suppose you've brought any food home?" he asked - a little cooly, Roger thought - in lieu of a greeting. 

"No?" Roger dropped his bag by the door and went to kick off his shoes beside the mirror. 

"Brilliant," Freddie said sarcastically, and slammed the fridge door shut. "I guess we're not eating then."

"I did, however," Roger turned back to him, brows furrowed, "just run into _Mary_. You wanna tell me what that's all about?" 

Freddie crossed his arms, his lips pursed and chin stuck out as though to say 'Yes, and so what?' 

"We were hanging out," he replied, "I played her the song I've been working on. She _loved_ it." 

Roger just stared at him, resisting the strong urge to put his shoes back on and march straight back out of the door. 

Well, this was just great. 

Just fucking _great_. 

On top of everything else, for some unfathomable, goddamn reason, Freddie was evidently mad at him. 

Fuck his entire life.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My alternative summary for this chapter was:
> 
> "The human condition, or: The one where everyone is a bit of a dick." 
> 
> Because... yeah. Raise your hand if you feel bad for all of them, including Mary. 🙋🏼♀️
> 
> If you feel like reading something unrelated and fun, Tikini of poly!Queen fame and I have started a collab. It's really silly and we're just playing and loving it! Do check it out, it's called [Dreams of Tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356092/chapters/50867719)!
> 
> Love you all ❤️


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulnerability, not music, is the food of love. And sometimes, it's both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, me personally, I adore this chapter. And at the same time I'm quite worried that some might find it a bit 'meh'. I don't know.
> 
> But not everything is always drama. Sometimes, it's just words. Just listening. Just the quiet moments that count.
> 
> Many thanks to my amazingly helpful beta, JM Laurence! 💕

\- - - 

There was a myriad of sounds. Hundreds of voices echoing and twice as many feet hitting the ground, hurrying up and down stairs. Announcements crackling over the loudspeakers, the torrential summer rain hammering down on the roof above the platforms and trains screeching to a halt as they pulled into the station. 

One of them was Roger's train.

He nodded toward it as it stopped beside them, eyes never leaving Freddie's. 

"Alright, I gotta..." 

"Yeah," Freddie nodded and pressed his lips together, holding his boyfriend's gaze in turn. They stood close, but not too close, surrounded by strangers who paid them no mind. Separated by the fear of drawing too much attention, if they bade each other farewell the way they would have liked to. 

"You'll call, won't you?" Freddie said and felt ridiculous. 

One would have thought Roger was shipping out to war and not going to Truro, for only a fortnight, before the end of which Freddie would see him anyway. But it was more than the leaving. It was the not being able to be there with him, _for_ him, which made Freddie's heart ache. 

Roger smiled a bittersweet smile.

"I'll ring as often as I can." 

They both knew what he meant, of course. 'Only so often as for it not to seem strange.' 

The doors had opened and people were disembarking all around them. Roger shuffled his feet, tugged at the strap of his duffle bag. 

"I have to go." 

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again. And then, he threw himself at Roger, wrapping his arms around his neck. 

"I'll miss you." 

Roger's arms slid around his waist in return, holding him close. 

"It's just two weeks..." he said softly, trying to comfort them both. "Not even."

"I love you," Freddie whispered, his voice almost lost amidst the noise. 

"Love you, too." 

Roger pulled back and Freddie released him, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. They were all over the place, refusing to settle now that they had been robbed of the warmth they wanted to feel. 

"Safe trip," Freddie said. 

"Bye," said Roger, and boarded the train. The doors closed moments later. Freddie walked over to the windows of the carriage, searching between the faces of strangers, and found him again in the corridor. Roger stopped and smiled, pressing his palm to the window. 

'I love you,' he mouthed, his smile widening to a grin. 

Freddie couldn't help but return the grin, even though his eyes were moist. 

They waved each other goodbye when the train began to pull out of the station. Freddie walked a few steps alongside it and stopped when the train gained more speed. A few seconds later Roger was out of sight. 

Freddie slowly lowered his hand, his smile fading. With a deep sigh, he watched the train depart and turned to go. 

\- - - 

"She _loved_ it." 

Freddie's voice was aloof, an accusatory scowl on his face. It made Roger's heart sink and tied his stomach in knots.   
His eyes followed Freddie as the older man retreated to his bed without waiting for a reply, burying his head in his notebook. With every intention, no doubt, to punish Roger with silence for the rest of the night. For what? Roger didn't have a single clue. 

He wasn't sure how he felt anymore.

Tired.   
Emotionally and physically exhausted, having spent the majority of the afternoon tense with impotent fury. 

Deeply annoyed.   
With the record company, with the unfairness of it all, with Tim and Brian for being so goddamn blasé about it all and now with Freddie, for being difficult and capricious, and upset over something that clearly couldn't have been so big a deal or else Roger would have surely known what it was. For not just coming out with it and telling him straight. For having Mary over instead of coming down to the pub to see him. And why? To make him jealous? To make some sort of point? _What the hell._

Hurt.   
Because Roger had already forgiven Freddie for not showing up when he said he would. He didn't even want an explanation any longer. It was then that he realised that all he had really wanted was to come home and-

Come home, and be _loved_. Just be loved, even though everything felt like it was falling apart. Even though he was an idiot with no backup plan and his life had just gone from high hopes to complete uncertainty in the matter of an afternoon. 

Because he was scared.   
Of the very thought of going home to his parents. Of amounting to nothing. Of his father's words and his mother's tears. 

Roger exhaled sharply and crossed over to his own bed, clearing a space to sit, cross-legged, with his head in his hands. 

As much as a part of him wanted to lash out and snap back at Freddie, he couldn't muster up the energy to be angry anymore. 

For once, Roger simply admitted defeat. 

"Look," he said tiredly after a few moments, lowering his hands into his lap and staring down at them. "I'm sorry. Whatever I've done, I'm sorry, okay? I just... I can't. I can't do this tonight." 

There was no reply, so Roger sighed and raised his head, looking over at Freddie who was peering at him past his notebook, out of the corner of his eye. His jaw tense and his gaze dark and unforgiving. 

"Please?" Roger tried to say, but his voice failed him and it came out a whisper. "Please-" 

'Please just tell me what I've done,' he had meant to say. But he didn't get that far, because his throat closed up and the next attempted word came out a sob. The tears came on so strong, so suddenly. He didn't even have time to try and hold them back.   
Roger clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. Shocked at himself and frightfully embarrassed in equal measure as he fought to regain control over his breath and stop his shoulders from shaking. He heard Freddie's bed creak, felt him approach and balked at the very thought of being touched. Roger blindly raised a hand to keep him at a distance, fingers closing around a fistful of Freddie's shirt. 

"Rog," Freddie uttered and took a hold of his wrist. Once again, Roger couldn't find the strength to keep on resisting when the other man moved his hand away. 

Freddie sat down beside him. 

"Roggie..." 

Roger shook his head, face hidden behind a veil of his hair. Freddie scooted closer and tried to put his arms around him even as Roger attempted to push him away. An awkward sort of struggle ensued, weak on Roger's part and no match for Freddie's calm, undeterred persistence. 

"No, no, leave me alone, m'fine," Roger protested in a tear-choked voice, up until the moment when his boyfriend finally, successfully wrestled him into a hug. 

Freddie said nothing more. Just embraced him tightly, so tightly. And at last, Roger stopped fighting. Stopped fighting Freddie and the tears, now soaking the other man's shirt where his head rested, face pressed into his shoulder. He couldn't remember crying like this in years. Wracked by sobs, trying to gasp for breath and swallowing snot and tears instead. All the while so ashamed of himself he wanted to drop off the face of the earth and simply cease existing. And it was stupid, so fucking stupid. Had Freddie asked him in that moment what he was crying about, even if Roger had been in any state to reply, he couldn't have told him. 

It was utterly pathetic.

The voice inside his head was his father's through and through. 'Pull yourself together. Stop that wailing, do you hear me? Stop it _this minute_. Oh, for Christ's sake, you're worse than your mother.' But it took an embarrassingly long time to so much as stop himself choking on his tears, to draw shuddering but slightly more even breaths again while Freddie gently stroked his back. 

It took much longer still to work up the courage to lift his head out of the crook of Freddie's neck and pull back, knowing he had to acknowledge what had just happened. 

Fuck. Roger wiped his face on his shirt and rubbed his puffy eyes, staring at Freddie's knee beside his own. He couldn't bare to lift his eyes up to him. Freddie's fingers gingerly brushed over his hair and dropped down to find his hand. The older man took it in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. For some goddamn reason the tiny gesture made fresh tears well up in Roger's eyes. _For fuck's sake_. He huffed with frustration and wiped them away before they could fall, feeling raw inside and strangely numb at the same time. His mind was a grey gaze of too much at once and yet not a single, clear thought he could hold on to. Except that their hands looked beautiful together, curled into each other like this. 

After what felt like an excruciatingly long silence, Roger cleared his throat. "Will you, um, give me a hand," he croaked, glancing up at Freddie for the briefest of moments, "or a leg-up, more like, seeing as I'd like to go throw myself off the roof now, so..." 

Freddie was kind enough to chuckle at his desperate attempt to gloss over the situation with humour. 

"I'll throw you off myself, if you like," he said, "Don't think for a moment that you're off the hook, dear, I still have a bone to pick with you." 

But the hint of resentment in his voice was far outweighed by its gentleness, and his thumb stroked Roger's hand as he held it firmly in his. For a moment Roger thought that this might be the perfect way out of talking about what had just happened because by god, he wasn't ready to. He jumped at the opportunity to change the subject, even if it meant finding out what he'd done wrong _now_. 

"So, um..." 

This time, Roger looked up and managed to hold Freddie's gaze a while longer, trying not to avert his eyes when his boyfriend studied his face intently with obvious concern. 

"What'd I do?" Roger asked despondently. 

Freddie narrowed his eyes a little, a wounded look flickering through his eyes. 

"I'll tell you," he said quietly. "after you tell me what's wrong." 

Bugger. 

Roger sighed and ran a hand over his face, looking around the room as if it might have the answers. It didn't. 

"It's stupid," he murmured, fingers dipping under the collar of his shirt nervously. "They're not gonna release our record in the UK. Only in the US." 

"What?" Freddie sounded every bit as incredulous as Roger had felt earlier in the day. " _Why_?" 

"I don't fucking know," Roger muttered, shaking his head. "Something about market strategy and things like that, but honestly, it just-" 

"That seems like a terrible strategy," scoffed Freddie, taking the words right out of his mouth. "Why can't they release it here at the same time?" 

"That's what I said!" Roger couldn't help but exclaim. " _Thank you_!" 

Because he understood Brian, who was trying to stay cautiously optimistic, and he understood Tim, who didn't see the point in complaining about something they had no control over. But Freddie understood _him_ , and right now, that meant the world to Roger. He launched into the details of everything that had happened, recounting the meeting and what had nearly turned into quite the nasty fight with Tim. 

"Gosh," The concerned frown hadn't really left Freddie's face. "Are you alright? You and Tim?" 

"Yeah, yeah..." Roger shrugged, tugging at the ends of his hair. "It's fine, we're fine. I didn't-" He broke off, chewing his bottom lip for a few moments. "I didn't mean to get so mad at him. I'm just mad at myself."

"Why?" 

"Because-" 

The lump in his throat was back. Brilliant. Roger tried to swallow it down, with little success. 

"Because what if my dad was right," he said quietly, "about me." 

He glanced up at Freddie, who said nothing, so Roger took a deep breath and continued. 

"What if he's right, Fred? What if they just don't think we're good enough, you know? And they're just... they just don't wanna spend the money, because they don't see the point anymore and-" Roger put his head in his hand, holding on to Freddie's hand tightly with the other. "All this time... _all this time_ , I thought... I'd go home, you know, and tell them that I've dropped out, but that it's alright, really, because this is happening and I know what I'm doing. I was so sure that- that I _know_ what I'm doing-" 

The last word came out strained. Roger broke off, shaking his head, lips pressed together tightly. 

"You do," Freddie said softly, "Roger, you do know what you're doing. You're... you're very good. You and Brian... and Tim."

"Very good. Yeah." Roger gave a dry chuckle, looking up at him. "Very good isn't exactly anything special... is it?" 

Freddie drew a breath, but said nothing, glancing aside for a moment. Roger snorted quietly, a sad smile on his lips. 

"See? You don't really believe we're gonna make it, either..." 

"I believe in _you_ ," said Freddie, without missing a beat. 

"Why?" 

"Because-" Their eyes met again, a thoughtful frown on Freddie's face. "Because, Roger," he told him firmly "you believe in yourself. As you very well should, darling." 

Roger shrugged. "Yeah, well. Fat lot of good that is. It's not gonna matter when I have to go home and explain to my parents that I dropped out, that I haven't got a proper job, I haven't got a record coming out soon anymore and I- I don't know what to do, I mean, _fuck_ , Freddie. I don't know what to _do_ or- or what I was thinking, really. My dad's gonna fucking kill me. But that's not-" Roger paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "You know, that's- fuck him, I don't care. I don't give a shit what he's got to say anymore." And he said it with such conviction, that it was almost true. "But he... he's gonna make it out like it's my mum's fault." Roger frowned, scratching at his collarbone. "I know he will. He always does. As if it was _her_ that let it happen, you know? Like it's her fault that I'm such a fucking disappointment and I just-" The tears were back. Roger ran a hand across his face. To hell with it all, he didn't even care anymore. "I didn't want to disappoint her, you know? And I don't... I don't wanna be the reason they... Um. That's- that's why I've left it this long, I think. I need to be there when I tell them because it's me he needs to be angry with, not her, you know? It's just I'm-" His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes on their hands, still intertwined. "I'm scared to go." 

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't," Roger sniffed, rubbing the tip of his nose. "Don't be. I did this. It's my own fault."

It was his fault for leaving in the first place, Roger thought. For abandoning his mother and Clare, and making everything worse. He couldn't shake the feeling that things had become worse since he'd left, so it was all him. All his fault. He could've stayed. Gone to college somewhere nearby. But no, he just had to bugger off to London.   
Still, he didn’t regret it, not a single moment of his life in London. And what did that make him if not a selfish git?

\- - - 

Freddie wished he could have thought of the right thing to say, but truthfully, he couldn't think of anything to say at all that wasn't a platitude or an empty promise. Because he didn't know if it was going to be alright. And he knew Roger shouldn't have had to feel like he needed to protect his mother from his father's rage, but just because something wasn't right, didn't mean it wasn't real. So in the end, Freddie gave him the only thing he could offer.

"I'll come with you," he said, his knee leaning against Roger's, thumb stroking his wrist. Roger looked up at him and Freddie chanced a small smile. "For moral support?"

The fair-haired man smiled back at him sadly and shook his head. "No. I gotta go alone, this time. Thanks, though..."

Freddie pulled his lip over his teeth and nodded, feeling rather helpless and completely out of his depth. He felt torn between wanting to ask Roger a whole lot of questions about his family, but was equally afraid to hear the answers because he couldn't imagine what he could possibly say in response. They never talked about things like these, neither one of them. Since their trip, Roger had never brought up Truro except in passing, just as Freddie would have never dreamed of talking about why he barely ever wanted to see his family, even though they lived so close. Those simply weren't things one was supposed to talk about.

The things that made you cry as though the world was ending.

And yet, despite feeling so tongue-tied, despite how uncomfortable and heavy this conversation was, there was a warmth deep in Freddie's chest, a well overflowing with love for the other man in a way he only felt in their most intimate moments. Despite how angry he had been not even half an hour ago. He lifted a hand to Roger's cheek and leaned in, bringing their foreheads together.

"I wish I could help," he murmured.

"You are," Roger touched his face in return, fingers sliding down his cheek and cupping his neck. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I'm like this. It's stupid..."

Freddie gave a small shake of his head. "It's not."

"I'm fine now, I promise," the younger man sighed and leaned in to kiss him, soft and chaste, on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Freddie pulled back a little to meet his eyes, and even though in that moment he meant it, his thoughts couldn't help but circle back to what he had overheard at the pub before and the way it had made him feel. Perhaps Roger spotted the shadow of doubt on his face, because his eyebrows drew together and he tilted his head, a questioning look in his eyes.

"What? Oh..." He seemed to remember then, and lowered his gaze, shifting his weight a little on the bed. "Right, go on then. Tell me."

Freddie waited for him to raise his head again and look him in the eye, because while he almost didn't want to bring it up at all now, he also wanted to know the truth. He'd really rather know the truth, he thought, even if it hurt.

"Do you think my writing's shit?"

Roger blinked and frowned, clearly not having expected that question. "What?" 

Pulling his hand out of Roger's, Freddie sighed and chewed his lips for a moment. 

"My songs, do you think they're _shit_ , dear?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice tightly controlled. "Please be honest."

Roger's frown deepened. "No. Of course not." 

Freddie exhaled sharply and looked away, a mirthless half smile on his lips as he ruffled his hair and tugged at the ends of a few curls. 

"Really. So, then, why did you tell Brian and Tim that they're no good?" 

"... What? I didn't." 

Freddie gave an almost comically exasperated sigh and flicked his wrist back, still not looking at his boyfriend. 

"I came to the pub earlier," he informed him, throwing him a wary glance. "and I overheard you talking." 

"Wait, what? You were eavesdropping?" Roger asked, sounding both confused and incredulous. 

"Not on purpose!" Freddie huffed, meeting his eyes. "But I was right behind you, and you didn't see me, and you said-" 

"I said I thought they were good," Roger cut in. 

Now it was Freddie's turn to look decidedly confused. 

"No, you didn't. You didn't! You said-" 

"I did! What the hell, Fred-" 

"You said you couldn't possibly tell because I don't even know how to play the guitar!" Freddie exclaimed, and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Roger, who opened his mouth, and slowly closed it again. 

"Okay," Roger said carefully, and had the decency to look embarrassed. "I didn't actually say it like _that_..." 

"Well, that's what it sounded like." 

"Okay... yeah." Roger admitted. "I said... I said you only knew five chords or something. Which, I mean, if we're being fair..." 

Freddie gave him a glare that silenced him immediately. Roger held up one hand. 

"Yeah, no, I'm sorry. You're right. That was a crappy thing to say. But," he met Freddie's eyes. "what, so you just left? You didn't think to, oh, I don't know, whack me over the head and ask me what the fuck I was on about?" 

"Obviously not!" Freddie pulled his lip over his teeth, a wounded look in his eyes. "I was embarrassed." 

Roger seemed to shrink under his gaze. "... I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, well." Freddie shrugged his shoulder, raising his eyes up to the skylight. 

" _Well_..." Roger said slowly. "That wasn't all I said though." 

Freddie glanced over at him sceptically. 

"I said that, actually, I do think the stuff you write is good. I mean, it's different." 

" _Different_ ," Freddie echoed. 

"Good different," Roger assured him before he could say anything else, and broke into a crooked smile. "Just like you." 

Freddie lifted his chin, peering down his nose at him, and smiled a tight-lipped smile despite himself. 

"And, I'm sorry, that wasn't..." Roger shook his head. "I really shouldn't have said the other thing at all, I was just... I was in a foul mood and-" He picked at a hole in his jeans, tearing away a few loose threads. "You know."

Freddie didn't know. 

"No? What?" 

"I mean," Roger mumbled, twisting another thread around his finger. "how many songs have I written, you know? Like, properly. Music and all." 

Freddie just looked at him blankly because in all honesty, he had no idea. Of course they talked about song writing sometimes, about what might make a good song, about the kind of sound they liked or ideas that popped into their heads. But it was never in such great detail, and while Freddie certainly hadn't hesitated to show Roger some of his attempts at song writing until now, it suddenly occurred to him that Roger had never done the same. 

"None," the younger man finally said, meeting his eyes, "Zero." He chuckled mirthlessly. "And it's not like, I mean... I've actually... I've _tried_ ," he admitted quietly. "But, um... yeah. It's just... It's all a bit shit. And you, you just... do it. It's like it's so easy for you." 

Freddie was stunned. Was Roger _jealous_ of him? The very idea seemed ridiculous. After all, it was Roger who was in a band. It was Roger who had a record deal, UK release or not. And Roger was jealous... _of him_? It was hard not to feel a little smug. And once again, he really didn't know what to even say to that. 

Roger tutted quietly. "Do you know what that feels like? I mean, I should be the one-"

"Do I know..." Freddie muttered incredulously, cutting him off. "I'm sorry, do _I_ know what that feels like? Yes, I fucking well know what that feels like, you twat!" 

"Um," Roger looked up at him, eyebrows raised, surprised at his sudden outburst. 

"Sorry," Freddie huffed, "I don't mean to- but- bloody hell, Roger! Did it ever occur to you what it feels like for me, watching you at every gig? Wishing- no, fuck that, _knowing_ that that's where I should be, too? Up on that fucking stage! Not chatting to Chrissie and Anne about where we should all go for drinks after and where they went on a date last night, _god_."

"I..." For a moment, Roger looked surprised, but then he nodded slowly, a knowing look in his eyes. "Yeah. I know." 

An uncomfortable silence followed, before Freddie spoke up again. 

"Yes," he sighed, "but since you're so against the very idea of having me in the band-" 

"Freddie, it's not like that-" 

"Even though it's a brilliant idea and you're all idiots-" 

"Fred-" 

"No, please," Freddie waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not trying to... I'm just saying." 

"I know." 

Well, this conversation had taken an incredibly awkward turn fast. It was all coming to the fore now, it seemed. 

"Listen," Roger lay a hand on his knee. "Let's make a deal, okay?" 

Freddie looked down at the hand on his leg and up at his boyfriend, raising his eyebrows. 

"If," said Roger, " _if_ things don't work out, with Smile." 

Freddie's expression softened. "They will, darling. I'm sure they will."

"I mean, I really hope so, too." Roger shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "But, listen, if they don't... then we're starting a band. You and me. Deal?"

They looked at each other for a long moment. Pulling his lips over his teeth, suppressing the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth, Freddie nodded. 

"Deal." 

They shook on it. 

"Fuck it!" Roger chuckled. "We'll drag Bri into it, too!" 

Freddie laughed out loud. "So, essentially, you're just kicking Tim out of the band?" 

"Oh, shit, I guess so!" They were both laughing now. "Fuck, don't tell him I said that! He already hates me." 

As the laughter petered out, they looked at each other and sighed. Freddie chewed on his nail for a moment, eyes on the notebook lying on his bed. 

"Darling, will you help me figure something out?" 

"Sure." 

Freddie wasn't sure what it was exactly that prompted him to grab his notebook and return to Roger, leaning in close, suddenly full of enthusiasm. After all, much as he liked to talk about his ideas, song writing was a solitary process. Wasn't it? Something he had always done locked away by himself in his room. Only now, he supposed, his room was also Roger's and there was really nowhere else to go. But it had still never occurred to him to ask for input. 

Until now. 

"So, you know this one, don't you," Freddie leafed through the notebook until he found the right page. 

"The fairy one?" 

"Yes, see here, I was thinking..." he paused, one thought chasing the next so fast, his mouth couldn't quite keep up. "Can I borrow your voice, dear? I really just want to hear what it'd sound like..." 

Roger chuckled and nodded, patiently listening to him ramble on about what he envisioned the song to be. Not a ballad, not at all, faster than that, because it was a tragedy, darling. A raging battle. Freddie grabbed his guitar, demonstrating with sharp downstrokes what he knew the piano would sound like, if he'd had it to hand. But it also had to be gentle, and reverent, sort of, because the fairy kingdom was ancient, and full of wonder. Delicate and magical and, how high could Roger sing, anyway? 

Before long they were harmonising the chorus, both in falsetto, amidst laughter and gasps of excitement when it actually came out sounding quite good. Until the downstairs neighbours had had enough and a loud and insistent knocking rudely interrupted them. 

"Oh shit," Freddie snickered, glancing at the clock. "It is bloody late, I think we're in trouble!" 

"Eh, they'll get over it," Roger threw his arms around him and wrestled him down onto the bed the moment Freddie put his guitar aside. Still giggling, they hugged each other tightly, lying on top of Roger's clothes and whatever else usually littered his bed. Roger pressed his face into the crook of Freddie's neck, squeezing him tighter still. 

"I can't breathe," Freddie complained, still laughing. 

Roger loosened his grip but remained lying half on top of him, warm and heavy and so much his, Freddie thought, that it felt as though he were an extension of himself. 

"Can I just stay here," Roger murmured against his skin. "Can I stay here forever?" 

"Yes," Freddie breathed, even though it wasn't true, and closed his eyes. "You can."

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this wasn't the expected turn of events. Was it? Let me know what you thought... I'd love to hear it!


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BIG FAT TRIGGER WARNING!**
> 
> Please, for the love of God, if domestic violence is a trigger for you, do not read the second half of this chapter. Don't.
> 
> \- - - 
> 
> So, here's the thing. When I started out writing this story, I had not planned any of this. I hadn't even planned for Roger to be a protagonist. But he almost immediately became one, alongside Freddie, and this became part of his character's story. And so, not addressing it would have been a cop out. 
> 
> This was very hard for me to write, for many reasons. But I think I have done it justice, and I am proud of that.

\- - - 

The receiver dangled from the telephone. Freddie ran to it and picked it up, pressed it flush against this ear and stuck a finger in his other ear to drown out the noise of the market. 

"Roger!" 

"Hey." 

"Darling," Freddie said, and: "Finally." With a smile on his lips, he tucked the receiver under his chin and draped one arm around the top of the telephone, leaning in closer. Chasing intimacy in a place that had none. "How are you?" 

"Yeah," Roger replied, his voice distant and tinny in Freddie's ear. "Fine." 

Freddie chewed his lip, not sure how to ask. Not sure if he should. 

"Have you... Did you..." 

"I told my parents yesterday." Roger answered, ending his struggle for words. 

"How did it-," Freddie began and cut himself off, wondering where Roger was calling from. "Are you at home? Can you talk?" 

"I'm out." 

"Are you alright?" Freddie found himself asking, again, because he didn't like the sound of Roger's curt replies and the impassive tone of his voice. 

There was a pause. Freddie gazed in the direction of their market stall, his eyes unfocused, nervously sucking on his teeth. 

"Roggie," he urged, after a moment. 

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. 

"I don't... I don't know." 

\- - - 

They had definitely overdone it with the farewell drinks. The near empty bottle of whiskey on the counter was a testament to that. But then, the mix of burning liquor and spicy sweet ginger beer went down so easy and neither one of them had wanted the night to end. 

Freddie was on his knees, hair dragging over the pillow, one hand between his legs and moaning so beautifully as he pushed back against him with every thrust. 

"Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ," Roger moaned over the sound of skin slapping against skin. 

"Ah, Roggie, oh _god_ ," Freddie whined, his voice hoarse, "Harder- Ah, fuck!" 

_Electric Ladyland_ was still playing somewhere in the background, all but drowned out by the string of loud moans and exclamations of delight. Freddie wasn't _quiet_ at the best of times, and certainly quite vocal when he was tipsy, but as it turned out, drunk Freddie was really _something else_. 

"Ah! Yes! YES! _Ohfuckyes_ -" 

"Jesus..." 

And it was, quite frankly, both amusing and unspeakably hot.

Roger gave a low moan, fingertips digging into Freddie's hips, the pace they were going at savage, relentless.

"Shiiiit-" 

"God- ahh! Oh my _god_!" 

An insistent hammering from the floor below joined the sound of the headboard banging against the wall. They broke the rhythm momentarily, half panting, half laughing. 

"Don't think that's the music... they're complaining about..." Roger smirked and swallowed thickly, rolling his hips, moving almost leisurely now as he ran a hand down Freddie's back and back up to his arse. 

"Too bad," Freddie breathed, moving against him, trying to make him go faster again with needy desperation. 

"Come _onnn_ , please..." he panted, and gave a yelp when Roger slapped his arse. A second playful smack, less unexpected, drew a moan from him. 

"So demanding," Roger breathed, kneading the hot patch of skin he had just abused as he held still and let Freddie do all the work for a few moments. Freddie glanced at him over his shoulder, propped up on his elbows, eyes heavy-lidded and slack-jawed as he pushed back on Roger's cock. It was an unbelievable sight. Roger wanted it ingrained in his mind forever.

"Enjoying yourself?" he rasped, biting his lip, and gave Freddie's arse another resounding smack. 

The sharp intake of breath, followed by an almost obscenely wanton moan, made his hips jerk forward beyond his control. Much to Freddie's delight, who did not appreciate being left wanting. 

"Shut up, Blondie," he uttered, somewhere between a whine and a growl. "Shut up and fuck me." 

Roger was only too happy to oblige.

The neighbours were probably going to hate them, but neither of them was sober enough to care. 

In the darkness of his childhood room, Roger bit down on his lip hard, eyes screwed shut and memories of the night before fresh in his mind. His whole body tense as a bow, on the verge of release. Heart hammering in his chest as he stroked himself rapidly. His mouth fell open in a silent moan when he spilled hot in his hand and across his stomach, tissues at the ready in the other hand to mop up the mess. 

Lying there afterward, the stained wad of tissues in his hand, reality felt cold even though it was a balmy summer night. A reality in which the knowledge that he would have to have a very serious chat with his parents in the morning was keeping him awake. Something that even a good wank probably wasn't going to help him with. Although he'd decided that it couldn't hurt to try.

The knock on his bedroom door, quiet as it was, made Roger jump. Fuck. He tossed the tissues under the bed and quickly pulled up his pyjama shorts. Then he kicked the duvet off his legs and got out of bed, pulling on his t-shirt on the way to the door.

When he quietly opened it, Clare's blue eyes peered up at him, dark in the dim light. 

"Hey," she whispered. 

"Hey." Roger stepped aside and let his sister in, closing the door behind her. He wandered over to his desk and switched on the desk lamp while Clare sat down on the bed, tugging at the end of her plait. 

"I thought you might come to talk," she said in a hushed voice when he sat down at the top end of the bed, bringing one leg up under himself.

"Yeah, sorry," Roger pulled the pillow into his lap, hugging it against his stomach. "I thought you might be asleep by the time I came up."

That wasn't entirely true, of course. There was so much he wanted to tell Clare, and so much he wanted to ask, it was all _so much_ that it was overwhelming and Roger didn't know where to start. 

"I couldn't sleep," Clare told him. 

Roger picked at the end of a feather which was sticking out of the pillow. 

"Me neither." He ruffled his hair with a sigh. "So... tomorrow's gonna suck." 

"Why?" 

Roger met her eyes. Might as well just come out with it. 

"I dropped out of college. Back in May." 

Clare's eyebrows shot up, a nervous smile on her lips, as though she wasn't sure whether he was joking or not. "... What?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" she asked, still in disbelief. 

"Yeah," Roger repeated, "really." 

"Mum and Dad don't know...?"

Roger snorted. "Obviously not." 

His sister looked at him, quite astounded, perhaps more so than any of his friends in London had been. Roger had never been much of a rebel. A prankster, sure, perhaps even the class clown sometimes. And of course he'd taken part in all the usual school boy hijinks and got himself into trouble with both his parents and his teachers. But none of it had been particularly serious transgressions. His grades had never suffered much and overall it could be said that Roger had never exactly been a problem child. Not at all the sort of lad parents worried and complained about, neighbours eyed suspiciously and teachers knew nothing good would become of, who spent too much time running about goodness knows where, defying rules and finding himself at the receiving end of the schoolmaster's cane again and again. Roger had not been that boy. So he knew that even growing out his hair, as soon as he had moved to London, was perceived as some kind of rebellion by his father in particular. And it was, he supposed, in a way. It was the same _fuck-you_ to society as was rock n' roll and torn jeans and walking in the streets barefoot and outrageous fashion. Roger had been swept up in the beatnik and hippie movements just like the majority of teens in much of the world, and while he wasn't extreme or political about it, he definitely felt a part of it. But it wasn't until he had come to London that he had fully embraced the spirit of it all. It was about freedom, he thought, at the heart of it. Free love, self-expression unbound by the rules of society, the freedom to be authentic and _real_. 

"Are you going to tell them tomorrow?" Clare asked, now looking quite concerned on his behalf. 

Roger nodded. He didn't have much of a choice, really. He'd taken the late train coming to Truro to avoid a big dinner with everyone their mother cared to invite, but instead she had invited them all for lunch the next day. So there was nothing for it but to tell his parents before the guests arrived, before people started asking him questions about his life in London.

"I'm gonna do it first thing in the morning," he scratched his chin, frowning to himself. "But I wanna tell dad first. Do you think mum's gonna go to the shops?" 

"I guess so," Clare thought about it. "I'm sure there'll be something she'll have forgotten to get... there always is." 

"Well, do you mind going with when she goes?" 

Clare gave him a look, not at all convinced. 

"Please," said Roger. "I'm trying to keep it from turning into a big thing." 

After a moment, his sister nodded. 

"Alright." 

When she turned away, twisting her fingers around the end of her plait, Roger put the pillow aside and scooted a bit closer. 

"Talk to me." 

Clare shrugged. "Dad's going to be..."

"Yeah, but with _me_ , though," Roger assured her before she could finish the sentence. "He'll be angry with me." 

Clare shook her head and looked up at him, as though to say, who are you trying to fool, really? They both knew no one usually escaped their father's dark moods, no matter how much or how little you had to do with it. Roger sighed and lowered his eyes. 

"How's, um..." he murmured, and nodded in the direction of their parents’ bedroom. "How's everything been?" 

Clare gave another shrug and remained quiet for some time. He was afraid to hear the answer, but even her silence hurt. Because in all honesty, he already knew. He had suspected after almost every conversation he'd had with his family over the phone in the last couple of months, and his suspicions were confirmed last night. It hadn't taken him much more than one look at his mother's sad, tired eyes coupled with the forced enthusiasm his father had managed to conjure up for his arrival. It always amazed him. Did they really think he didn't know, or couldn't see? The way his mother walked on eggshells, minding her every word so as not to say the wrong thing? The dark shadow of misery behind a smile that was barely there on his father's face?   
When Clare sniffed quietly, Roger wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her close. She clung to him, her face buried in his shirt. How familiar it all felt. How many times they had lived this moment, over and over again. 

"I don't want to be here anymore," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't stand it." 

"I know," Roger pressed his cheek to the top of her head and closed his eyes. 

There was not much else he could say. 

\- - - 

"What happened?" Freddie asked gently. 

The long silence that followed made his heart sink. 

"Roger." 

"Freddie." There was a dry chuckle. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Oh..." 

"Sorry." 

"No, it's alright, dear," Freddie bit at his thumb nail, suddenly struggling to think of anything else to say. Which was strange, given how much he had been looking toward to this call. But now, his chest was tight with worry and he was suddenly tongue-tied. Roger felt miles away, literally and metaphorically, and Freddie didn't know how to bridge the distance. 

\- - - 

As soon as the door closed behind his mother and sister, Roger turned and looked through the doorway into the living room. Beyond that was the kitchen, where his father sat, still perusing the Sunday paper. 

The last half an hour had dragged terribly, and Roger had spent it not knowing what to do with himself while his mother was getting ready to leave. He just wanted to get it over with. 

But now that it was time, he felt rooted to the spot. It wouldn't matter, he reminded himself. Whatever his father would have to say about it, it wouldn't matter. He was an adult. A grown man. (So why, then, was his stomach in knots as if he were a child, terrified of admitting to a wrongdoing?) 

Roger glanced at the stairs, tempted to go up and have a cigarette first at his bedroom window, but then shook his head, dismissing the thought, and walked through to the living room.

He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at the front page of the newspaper, behind which his father sat, frowning. _BIG AIRBUS CLASH_ , this morning's headline read, _'BUY BRITISH OR PAY UP'_. 

"Dad," Roger said quietly. 

His father gave an acknowledging hum without looking up from the paper. Roger approached the kitchen table and sat down in his usual place, folding his hands on top of the table. 

"Dad." 

He must have sounded more insistent, because his father lowered the paper and looked at him, giving him a quick, mildly reproachful once over. 

"At least run a comb through your hair before people get here, will you?" he tutted.

"Yeah, I was going to..." Roger brushed his hair behind his ear, "Um, there's something I need to tell you." 

His father's eyes returned to him and lingered, this time, boring into him while he slowly folded the newspaper away. Roger cleared his throat. 

"So, after we signed with Mercury Records..." he started, trying his level best to sound self-assured and as though none of this was really that big of a deal. "I thought about it and, uh... I'm, I mean, really, I've known for a while that I don't want to do dentistry. So I... um, I quit. A couple months ago, actually." 

One could have heard a pin drop in the deadly silence that followed. Roger held his father's gaze, biting his lips. 

"You're joking." 

"No." 

"You dropped out of college."

Roger nodded. "Yes. We... Our record's coming out soon and that's... that's what I want to focus on, you know, so-" 

Michael Taylor slammed the folded-up newspaper down onto the table and leaned forward, frown turning into a scowl. 

"That record of yours, it'll be a _hit_ , will it now?" 

"Well, I mean, it could-" 

"The BBC's asked you to come play on their pop music programme, have they?" 

"Top of the- no, of course not, I mean," Roger slipped his fingers underneath his shirt collar, tracing his collarbone. "It's not, um, actually coming out _here_... yet." he said quietly. "Just in the US." 

His father gave him a long, measured look and laughed. It was a mirthless, disdainful sound. Then he shook his head, running a hand over his face. 

"You have _got_ to be joking! Jesus Christ, Roger! _Really_? What the devil were you thinking?" 

"Look," Roger stubbornly refused to be made to feel as though this had been some kind of thoughtless, short-sighted spur of the moment decision. Because it wasn't. "It's not about if we make it or not, okay? I know I don't wanna be a fucking dentist, either way! I know what I want to do, Dad-" 

"Do you think anyone gives a hoot what you want to do!" His father barked, cutting him off. "That's not how the world works, let me tell you! You do what you bloody well _have_ to, to have a roof over your head! To pay the bills! To-" 

Roger rolled his eyes, and came to regret it immediately. 

"You think you know better, do you?" his father hissed, fixing him with a glare. "Roll your eyes at me again. I dare you. Go on." He rolled up the newspaper in his hands and smacked the table edge with it so hard the cups shook. "DO IT!" 

Roger closed his mouth, warily looking back at the older man. Well then, here it was. There was always a moment, and he knew it well, when his father's anger reached a tipping point. When instead of just loud and angry, he became unpredictable and menacing. Roger lowered his gaze to the table, biting his tongue. Maybe if he just kept quiet now and didn't feed the flames it would be over sooner. 

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you! Well, you're an idiot, if you think that!" His father raged. A new thought seemed to cross his mind. "Does your mother know about this?" 

Roger shook his head. 

"Don't lie. You tell _her_ everything, I know what you're like, the pair of you!" he scoffed, "She probably thought it was a grand idea!" 

"I haven't told her yet!" Roger retorted. "And this is nothing to do with Mum, it was _my_ decision, alright? Don't drag Mum into this." 

His father narrowed his eyes at him. 

"So you've been lying to both of us then? I can't believe you! All this time, you've been lying- LOOK AT ME when I'm talking to you!" 

Roger looked up, his face a mask of passive indifference. 

"You," His father pointed the rolled-up newspaper at him, narrowing his eyes. "You had it all handed to you on a silver platter. The best school, we sent you to!" 

"I know, but that's not-" Roger tried. 

"But that's not good enough for you, is it!" His father smacked the table edge with the paper again, making Roger flinch despite himself. "IS IT!?" 

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!" Roger yelled back, hands balling into fists on top of the table. Caught somewhere between rage, guilt and fear. 

His father pushed himself up from his chair, towering over him, and Roger shrunk back a little, pulling his hands into his lap. 

"Oh, it's not what you _wanted_ , is it?! DO YOU THINK THIS IS WHAT I WANTED? Breaking my back day in day out for an ungrateful brat like you?! Do you really think you can go through life doing whatever you bloody well please? Throwing away everything we gave you, just like that!" 

"Well, maybe-" Roger started and tried to bite his tongue, glancing up at his father, matching anger burning in his own eyes.

"Maybe _what_?" the older man spat.

"Maybe I don't want to end up like _you_!" Roger blurted out. "Fucking miserable all the time! Dragging everyone around you down with you, because God forbid anyone’s actually allowed to be _happy_!" 

His words hung in the air for a split second, before his father raised the rolled-up newspaper and Roger threw up his hand, only half deflecting the blow aimed at the back of his head. He managed to get a hold of the paper and tried to pull it out of his father's hands.

"What the _fuck_! Hit me again and I'll hit you back!" 

His voice cracked on the last word. He lost the battle for the newspaper and jumped to his feet. They stood facing each other, only the chair between them, and even though they were of the same stature now, his father was larger and heavier and there was a part of Roger which still felt as small and cornered as he had when he was a boy. 

"I'd like to see you try!" His father snarled, raising the rolled-up paper again as though he meant to beat a misbehaving dog into submission. Roger cowered instinctively before he could stop himself, and hated himself for it. 

"I didn't think so," his father scoffed. "You're getting too big for you boots!" 

As Roger straightened up, he whacked him on the head in a way that could have almost passed as playful. Except that it wasn't. It was vicious and humiliating, and Roger stood there, with his head bowed, glaring up at his father through strands of his hair as the horrid mixture of anger, frustration and shame rising in his chest became overwhelming. 

"Fuck _off_!" he all but growled, even as his hand shot out and closed around the newspaper again, this time pulling so hard and so suddenly that he managed to yank it out of his father's hands. "Fuck off and leave me alone!" 

"Watch your mouth!" 

"OR WHAT?!" 

Roger tossed the newspaper aside onto the table, where it knocked over a cup and sent the tea spoon clattering. He wished his voice didn't shake and crack and betray him the way it did. 

"I don't give a fuck what you think! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!" 

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" His father pushed the chair between them aside so forcefully it fell over backward. Roger jerked back, expecting a slap. "YOU DON'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT UNDER _MY ROOF_!" 

What he didn't expect, and wasn't prepared for, was his father reaching up to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling, hard. 

"OW! Fuck! What the hell!? Let go!" 

He tried to twist away, unsuccessfully, grabbing on to his father's wrist as the older man dragged him over to the kitchen counter and slammed him into it face down, yanking at his hair so hard it made him yelp. 

"Let me- ah! Dad, please! _Please_!" 

"You're a bloody _disgrace_ , is what you are!" 

Roger heard and felt the kitchen drawer open beside him, even as his father renewed his hold on him, wrapping his fingers around a larger chunk of his hair. 

"Running around like one of those bloody hippies! You're a fucking embarrassment!"

He realised his father was holding a pair of kitchen scissors a second before he heard the first snip. A mixture of horror and disbelief took hold of him, soon turning to panic. 

"No! NO! DAD, STOP!" 

"SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH!" The words were all but yelled into his ear, making him wince and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. "I won't have it any longer, not in my house!"

Another snip, and another. A strand of his hair landed on his cheek. Roger wanted to scream.

"How can _anyone_ take you for a real man! When you go around looking like a fucking _pansy_?!" 

The more he struggled, the tighter the grip on his hair became, the harder he was shoved into the counter, until he finally managed to land a solid kick against his father's shin with the back of his heel. 

His father cursed and released him, shoving him away in a kneejerk reaction. Roger failed to catch himself and fell to the floor, landing on his backside. He instinctively scooted back further until he came up against the oven door. His legs felt weak and useless, and he was aware that he was shaking, drawing uneven breaths. Words could not describe the suffocating sense of humiliation which swallowed him up whole. He was too mortified to so much as look up, because he could feel tears burning in his eyes. _For fuck's sake, stop it._ Because he was useless. _What's the matter with you?_ Because he couldn't even stand up for himself. _Sissy._   
He pulled his knees closer to his chest and ran trembling fingers through his hair, feeling at the strands which were shorter than the rest. He had been hit before. Never beaten, really, but hit. Not often, either. He had been slapped in the face and shoved and kicked, and grabbed by the neck. And yet, somehow, this right here felt like the worst thing that his father had ever done to him. Which was stupid, Roger thought. It was hair. Just hair. 

For a moment, his father stood over him, breathing hard. 

"Now look at this mess," There was almost something like a hint of surprise in the older man's voice, as if he was taken aback by his own actions. "You just _had_ to push it, didn't you! You just had to! Jesus-" 

He threw the scissors down at Roger's feet, turned, and marched out of the kitchen without another word. Roger heard the jangle of keys and then the front door open and slam shut. 

He stared at the floor, littered with strands of his hair, until his vision became too blurry to see anything anymore and then he pressed his palms hard against his eyes and sat in darkness for some time. 

Until impotent anger broke through the shock and bubbled to the surface again, and with it, the desperate scream trapped in his throat. Only it came out half a sob as he pulled himself up, marched over to the table, picked up the mug his father had been drinking from and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into pieces, remaining drops of tea staining the wallpaper. Shards of porcelain on the floor. Roger stared at them. 

He broke them into pieces, his father did. All of them. All together, sometimes, or one at a time. Because he was broken. And he couldn't stand for anyone around him to be whole. 

Time and time again. Pieces. Pieces. Pieces. 

How many pieces of him had gone missing? Roger wondered as he hung his arms by his sides and let a familiar numbness overtake him.   
Specks of dust danced in the bright morning light, falling through the window all around him. 

He looked around the kitchen and went to fetch the broom. He swept up porcelain and hair and tidied the table. He went to the living room, opened the liquor cabinet, poured a generous amount of whiskey into a tumbler and took several burning gulps. Then he took the glass and the scissors to the upstairs bathroom and unceremoniously cut his hair, leaving it as long as he could while trying to somewhat even it out. It ended up just a bit shorter than jaw length, much the same way it had looked at the start of the year, probably. When he'd first met Freddie. 

Roger sighed and put the scissors down. Then picked up the whiskey and took another swig, surveying his hair in the mirror. 

It looked like shit. 

\- - - 

"I miss you," Freddie said eventually, and wondered how he could still miss Roger even while he was talking to him. 

"Yeah..." Roger exhaled slowly. "Me too. I'm just... sorry, I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say." 

"Say you love me," Freddie uttered in a near whisper, pulling his lip over his teeth. 

"I love you." He caught the first genuine hint of emotion in Roger's voice then, or thought he did. "I love you, Freddie." 

"I love you too, darling." 

"Bye."

The line disconnected. Freddie hung up the receiver, his heart heavy, and slowly wandered back to the stall. 

\- - - 

He heard the front door open, heard his sister's and mother's voices downstairs. There was no point in hiding away, much as he would have preferred to lock himself in the bathroom and stay there for the foreseeable future. There was no point in delaying. 

And yet he sat on the floor, his back against the cool tiles at the side of the bathtub, sipping his whiskey. 

It was a while before anyone went looking for him. Before there were footsteps on the stairs, and his mother's voice. 

"Roger? Mike?"

"He's gone," Roger called back through the bathroom door. 

The footsteps hurried his way and the door opened. 

"Roger, what are you..." 

Her eyes wandered from him, to the hair in the sink, to the glass in his hand, and back to his face. 

"Goodness. What happened?" 

His mother crouched down by his side and he didn't protest when she took the glass out of his hand. It didn't matter now, he could already feel the effects of the alcohol, enveloping him. A soft haze, a soothing balm. 

"Roger, what happened?" 

"I told dad," he said slowly, staring ahead at the flowers painted onto the cabinet underneath the sink. "that I dropped out of college a while ago. By the way, mum," he added, before his mother could say anything to that, "I dropped out of college." He turned and met her concerned, stunned gaze.

His mother lifted a hand to her lips, glancing down for a moment as she took in the information, added two and two together, made sense of the situation. Then she lowered her hand and looked up again. 

"When?" 

"Two months ago." 

"Oh sweetheart," She moved closer and knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him to her chest. "Why didn't you come to me first?" 

Roger wanted to laugh, because it was obvious. Wasn't it obvious?

"I didn't want you to have to defend me," he said quietly. His mother said nothing, then. Just hugged him tighter. Roger heard a quiet sob and frowned. 

"No, mum, please. Please, don't cry." He patted her arm comfortingly. "It's done now. I'm fine." 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Let me know what you thought?


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **READ THE NOTES!**
> 
> This is a short chapter because I basically ended up splitting one chapter into two. It felt like it needed to be two chapters. The second part will be up on **Wednesday night**!
> 
> I also want to address all the comments I received on the last chapter, which moved me deeply. I love you all and I thank you all for sharing and engaging with the story, big hugs to everyone, you are all wonderful, strong human beings. 💕💪🏻

\- - - 

Lunch was a perfectly regular affair. So regular that it felt surreal, after everything that had preceded it. But they were all so practiced at carrying on as though nothing had happened. And what had happened, really? Roger wondered, trying and failing to tuck a too-short strand of hair behind his ear for the umpteenth time as he politely answered questions about his musical ambitions and his life in London, carefully skirting the subject of dental college. All while his mother made perfectly reasonable excuses for his father's absence and smiled sweetly. While Clare talked about her accomplishments in school and turning sixteen.

It was fine. He was fine.

Except the very idea of telling someone, _anyone_ , what had actually transpired that morning made him feel physically sick. He hadn't told his mother all of it, nor his sister, and if there was one thing he was certain of it was that he couldn't bear the thought of anyone knowing. 

The neighbours left around mid-afternoon. It was early evening when Roger heard the keys in the door. His mother was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and Clare had gone to a friend's house for a sleepover. Roger had been lounging on the sofa in front of the television set for some time, staring at it without really watching the programme. As the front door opened, he sat up straight and felt his entire body tense up. 

A strong sense of déjà vu hit him as his father entered the room with the unsteadiness of a man who had been nursing pints all day. He looked well and truly wretched, shoulders slumped and his face a picture of misery and, Roger thought with a pang of anger, self-pity. 

"Everyone's gone then," he mumbled.

"Yeah," said Roger. 

His father glanced toward the kitchen from which the smell of fried fish emanated, sizzling in the pan. 

"Where's your sister?" 

"Judy's house." 

"Oh, that's right." 

His father shuffled over to the armchair beside the sofa and dropped down into it with a groan, folding his hands in his lap. The fish continued to sizzle. The clock on the wall was ticking loudly. 

"You seen this?" His father asked after a moment, pointing at the television screen with a dry chuckle, where a clip of Lulu the elephant running amok on Blue Peter last week was being shown yet again. Roger had already seen it last night. 

"Yeah." 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his mother in the doorway, anxiously watching them and wringing her hands in her apron. 

Roger was overcome with the odd sensation that he was watching himself and his parents, like the rerun of an old episode of Corrie. He knew exactly what was going to happen. Knew every word that would be said. 

Knew his father would clear his throat, as he did just then, as if on cue, and mutter something along the lines of-

"Listen." 

"No," Roger suddenly heard himself say, changing the script, and turned to look his father straight in the eye. 

"Roger-" 

"No," he repeated firmly with a shake of his head, defiant anger simmering inside him even though at the same time he felt tired, so tired. "Don't bother. I don't want to hear it. 'Cause I've just realised something," Roger rose to his feet. "I am done. Dad. I'm done forgiving you. Sorry, Mum, I'm not hungry." 

And with that, he made for the door, only to stop and turn back around, meeting his mother's eyes imploringly. 

"And, you know, I hope... I really hope that one day," Roger swallowed. "You'll be done forgiving him, too." 

"Roger," his mother started, but he ignored her as his feet carried him up the stairs, back to his old childhood room. He closed the door behind him and crossed over to the open window, greeted by a warm evening breeze. Picking up his pack of Malboro Reds, Roger climbed up onto the window sill, lit a cigarette and breathed a sigh of relief. 

\- - - 

"Freddie, dinner's ready."

"Just a moment," Freddie called back, not lifting his eyes nor his fingers off the keys as he continued to flesh out the melody in his head. Even though the food smelled delicious, his appetite was much outweighed by his desire to keep playing. He could have easily spent the entire evening at the piano, and would have, too, if it wasn't for the fact that his family might have got the impression that he had come to visit the instrument and not them. Freddie would have been inclined to agree that this was partly true. It was the thought of the piano coupled with the knowledge that Roger was with _his_ family and the resulting guilt of realising how much time had passed since Freddie had spent an afternoon at his parents' house which had brought him to Feltham.   
That, and the fact that he didn't quite seem to know what to do with himself since Roger had left. Much as living in such close quarters with his boyfriend had proven to be challenging at times, much as he had spent many, many weeks and months alone in his room at his parents house in the past, during his first years in London, Freddie had to admit that he didn't much enjoy solitude. He had grown very used to having Roger around. Someone to talk to, at all times. Alone in their little attic abode, he constantly caught himself making mental notes of the things he would have to ask Roger and thoughts he wanted to share just as soon as he spoke to him next. It was driving him to distraction, because he felt as though he was always forgetting about one thing or another, and then, when he _had_ spoken to Roger none of it had come to mind anymore. 

Roger had only reached him at the market on two occasions over the last six days, and both had ultimately left Freddie feeling deflated. Their conversations just didn't seem to go quite _right_. They fizzled out after a few minutes and both of them became tongue-tied and awkward. Talking to Roger had never been this unnervingly difficult and it both saddened and frustrated Freddie. But surely things would go back to normal just as soon as he came down to Truro at the end of next week and they were able to talk face to face again, he hoped. 

"We're all at the table, Freddie." 

"Yes, papa." Freddie sighed and tore himself away from the piano to sit down with his family. 

"When can we expect Mary to join us for dinner?" his mother inquired not five minutes later, heaping another spoonful of rice onto his plate. To her credit, she had heroically lasted until now without asking that burning question. 

Freddie smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Mum..." 

The idea had been, of course, to tell his family that he and Mary had split up and for that to be the end of this ridiculous charade. But doing it too soon after they had met her at his graduation might seem a little suspicious, Freddie thought. Although now that two weeks had passed, perhaps he should. He opened his mouth, casting his mother a furtive glance. 

"Actually-" 

"Oh, it's alright. I don't want to rush you," his mother patted his arm. "Only she seems like such a nice girl. And very pretty," she added, giving him a smile and a meaningful, approving look. Freddie closed his mouth and lowered his eyes to the table. 

"Jer," his father chuckled, "Let the poor boy eat, will you." He turned to Freddie, who had a nervous smile on his face and was prodding the food on his plate with his fork. "Although your mother is not wrong, eh, Freddie?" 

Now everyone was giving him that same suggestive smile and Freddie wanted to crawl under the table so they might leave him alone. Kash giggled and elbowed him affectionately, and he glanced at her with a quiet chuckle. If only they knew. 

"I'm very happy for you," his mother told him, suddenly earnest, eyes aglow with pride and affection when he looked up at her. "very happy."

"Thank you," Freddie murmured, and bowed his head to hide his eyes, wondering when and how he'd ever be able to tell them now. Knowing how disappointed and concerned his mother would be. Maybe he could just keep pretending a little while longer. 

\- - - 

Mary. 

All week, Freddie had been carefully avoiding his favourite high street boutique and the sweet eighteen-year-old girl who worked there. In fact, he hadn't spent much time in Kensington at all, outside of the market. On Monday night, he had half-accidentally invited himself to dinner with Brian and Chrissie and listened to Brian talk about the imminent moon landing for half the night. On Tuesday, he had spontaneously joined the lads from the record stall for an evening of hanging out in someone's flatshare (he still wasn't sure which of them actually lived there), listening to _We're Only In It For The Money_ by The Mothers of Invention (an album he was now determined to acquire himself), and laughing about Frank Zappa's satirical genius until they cried as they sat in the tiny back garden, the warm summer night air heavy with sweet-smelling smoke. Or in Freddie's case, laughing just as much at the inebriated antics of those who had indulged in the ganja while he sipped his coke. On Wednesday, he had gone for mid-week birthday drinks (Paul's birthday) in Hammersmith with a whole crowd of his college friends, which had seen him ending the night walking arm in arm with Tim and Anne, drunkenly singing _Let The Good Times Roll_ down Kensington High Street until they were reprimanded by a police officer. Thursday he'd skipped the market altogether to nurse his hangover before heading up to Marylebone with Brian in the early afternoon to spend too much time at Chimes, one of London's top music shops, until they were politely but pointedly told to buy something or leave. 

"So you're driving down on Sunday?" Freddie had asked, shielding his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun with a pair of dark glasses as they had stepped out of the shop. 

"No, Saturday, actually." Brian had told him, leading the way to the bus stop. "We've got a space we can rehearse in on Sunday before we start-" The guitarist had drawn quotation marks in the air, "- _the tour_." 

_The tour_ was a week and a half of gigs in and around Truro which Smile had already done several times since their formation, given Roger's connections in the area. 

"I'm really sorry we can't squeeze you in," Brian had said, genuinely apologetic. "It's just that with Anne and her sister in the van..." 

"Don't worry, dear," Freddie had waved him off with a smile. "I'll hitch a lift on Thursday, probably. Someone's got to mind the stall and pay the rent, and besides, sleeping arrangements should be fun as it is!" 

Between Roger and his Truro friends, the plan was for everyone who was coming down from London to find somewhere to kip over the week, and this included Tim, Brian and Pete (who was driving them in his van), Anne and her twin sister, Chrissie, and now apparently also one of Chrissie's friends. And, of course, Freddie. Except everyone was arriving at different times, on different days. 

It was going to be absolute chaos. Freddie was actually kind of looking forward to it. 

"Oh, well, in that case," It was then that Brian had dug a piece of paper out of his pocket. "I thought you wouldn't be around early next week, but seeing as you are..."

"What's this?" Freddie had asked curiously, taking the paper from him. He had slowly come to a halt as he read it, looking up at Brian. 

"Where did you get this?" 

"You should go." 

"No." Freddie had shook his head with a small chuckle. "I don't think so, I..."

"Why not?" 

Freddie hadn't had an answer for that. And he still didn't on Friday evening when he returned home from his parents' house and picked the flyer back up, pulling his lips over his teeth as he frowned at it. 

_'SINGER WANTED'_ , it read. _'Rock and roll student band looking for new lead singer. Modern group, fashionable outlook. Auditions Monday July 14th, 7pm - 9pm, upstairs at the Duke of Sussex (Waterloo).'_

What was wrong with him? Freddie wondered as he threw himself down onto his bed and ran his hands over his face. This was it, right here. A perfect opportunity. He would be stupid not to take it. Why, Brian would probably think he was mad if he didn't go. After all, he had spent months not so subtly trying to charm and persuade his way into Smile. But that was different. For one, he'd known Tim for a long time. And also, he'd quickly made friends with Roger and Brian, and he had heard them play and knew they were a decent band. And anyway, Freddie told himself, he didn't know who _these_ lads were. They might've been shit, mightn't they? And he didn't want to be in a band that was shit. 

Yes, that was it. (He knew that wasn't it.) 

\- - - 

"Roger!"

The phone had rung just as he was closing up the stall and Freddie had made a dash for it, picking it up before anyone else had so much as taken notice. 

Roger laughed on the other end of the line. 

"How'd you know it was me?" 

"I'm psychic," Freddie grinned into the receiver. "It's just one of my many talents." 

"'Course," He could hear the smile in Roger's voice. "I miss you... and your many talents." 

Freddie's grin widened impossibly, so much so that he had to reign it in and purse his lips instead, tugging at a lock of his hair. 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes." 

"And what do you miss the most?" Freddie flirted, lips brushing against the receive in an effort to speak quietly. 

Roger snorted and gave a hum. "I think you know." 

"Is it my enormous-" 

"Freddie!" 

"...ego?" Freddie guffawed at his own outrageousness. 

On the other end of the line, Roger's laughter petered out in a sigh. "Hysterical, you are." 

"Why, thank you." 

"You know what I've just realised?"

"What, dear?" 

"I don't think we'll have a minute to ourselves when you get here." 

Freddie clucked his tongue. "I think that's unfortunately true. Have the others arrived yet?" 

"No, not yet. Hey, um, listen..." 

There was a pause. 

"I'm listening." Freddie said softly. 

"It's been a bit of an... uh, bit of a rough week, to be honest with you. Sorry if I haven't..." There was another sigh. "I know we've not talked much, but... it's... it's not that I haven't... wanted to, I just..."

Freddie's fingers ran along the cord nervously. "Shall I come sooner? I could... I could hitch a lift tomorrow morning-" 

"No, no no, don't, no," Roger immediately protested, "It's fine, I didn't mean it like _that_ , I don't need you to-" 

"Oh, no, I didn't think- I was just-" Freddie bit his nail, frowning to himself, not sure what he was trying to say anymore. 

"I'll see you Thursday, and then we can figure out if you have to share a mattress with Pete," Roger snickered. 

Freddie shook his head with a small smile. "Sounds wonderful, I can't wait." 

"Are you going to thumb it?" 

"Yes, I suppose. I have all day, what's the point in spending money on the train?"

They went on to talk about the logistics of the weekend and the Cornwall mini-tour, their chances of a day at the beach and Freddie's fairly eventful week.   
In the end, long after he had hung up the phone, locked up the stall and left the market, Freddie realised that he had completely forgotten to mention the audition, too side-tracked by the fact that he was finally having an actual conversation with Roger. 

It was alright. It wasn't as if he needed Roger to tell him to go. 

Because he knew Roger would have most certainly told him to go.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is the clip of Lulu the elephant on the British children's programme Blue Peter.](https://youtu.be/kz9omscQ1F4) This was one of the first funny 'meme videos', if you will, and was shown on British television ad nauseum in July 1969.
> 
> Many of Smile's friends (and the band members too, on occasion) hitch-hiked around the country to see them play. Those were different times. No one was worried about hitching a lift with strangers. It was the done thing. 
> 
> As stated above, the next chapter will be up **on Wednesday**!


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie Bulsara knows exactly what he wants. Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part of what was originally one chapter, and now I think you'll understand why I split it the way I did.
> 
> Anyway, I have a lot of notes on this chapter, and they are at the end, because spoilers. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much to my fantastic beta JM Laurence. 💕

\- - - 

Early on Monday, Freddie realised three things. 

Firstly, it was seven o'clock in the fucking morning and he couldn't seem to go back to sleep. 

Secondly, he was going to go. He was going to go to that audition. And not only was he going to go, no; he was going to go and leave them _begging_ him to join their band. 

And lastly, he had entirely forgotten to buy cereal, the bit of milk left in the fridge had gone sour and he didn't fancy last night's stale popcorn (a snack turned dinner due to sheer laziness and his unwillingness to cook for himself) for breakfast.

So by half past eight, Freddie was sitting at a table in the café beside High Street Kensington Station, treating himself to a jam doughnut and coffee.  
The latter he almost spat out unceremoniously when the door opened and none other than Mary walked in. 

She spotted him before he could quite decide whether he should say hello, pretend he hadn't seen her yet or simply down his coffee, take his doughnut and run. 

Her gaze fell on him as she stood at the counter, waiting for her order, and she smiled tentatively, eyebrows raised in surprise. Freddie smiled back and raised his doughnut in greeting, for reasons beyond his comprehension, then knocked into his cup while setting it down, spilling coffee onto the plate. He was busy mopping up the mess and licking powdered sugar off his fingers as she came over with her own coffee in hand. 

"Good morning." 

Smiling shyly, Mary glanced at the empty chair across from him. 

"Hello, dear! Please, have a seat!" Freddie exclaimed, over the top enthusiastic and not at all sure why he was talking at that volume.

"Thank you," Mary lowered herself onto the chair and placed her coffee down, running a hand through her long, blond hair which hung loosely around her shoulders today.

"Fancy seeing you here!" 

Why was he shouting? _God_

"Oh, I... I stop by here most days, before work." 

"Oh really? How come?" Freddie blurted out before he could stop himself from asking such a ridiculous question. 

Mary glanced up at him, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Because they're open and they serve coffee?" 

"Of course! Silly me! Ha ha!" 

Someone please shoot him. 

"I haven't seen you in a while."

There was an uncertainty behind her smile, almost a question she didn't dare ask. 

"Yes, I... I've had a busy week," Freddie chuckled and brushed his hair back as he picked his half-empty cup back up. At least that wasn't actually much of a lie. "But here we are!" 

"Are you busy this week, also?" Mary asked, sipping her coffee. It was almost an innocent question. Almost. 

"Well, I do have an audition this evening," Freddie replied, grasping at the first thing which came to mind. "And after Wednesday I won't be here at all, I'm afraid, I'm going to Cornwall." 

"Oh, that's lovely," If Mary was disappointed, she didn't show it. "What's the audition for? Don't tell me you act as well?" 

"Oh, dearie me! No!" Freddie laughed. "No... it's... it's for a group. A student band. They're looking for a lead singer." 

"But that's wonderful!" Mary's face lit up with genuine excitement. Freddie nodded, a little hesitantly, pulling his top lip over his teeth. 

"Yes, I... yes." 

He averted his eyes from her inquisitive gaze. 

"Are you nervous?" 

Freddie chuckled into his cup, shaking his head a little, dismissing the question. There was a gentleness about her that made it hard not to open up. Much as he had avoided her this week, Freddie thought, the truth was that it wasn't because he didn't _want_ to be around her.

It was far more complicated than that. 

"You've no reason to be," Mary leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, cradling the cup between her hands. "They would be insane to turn you down."

Freddie flicked his eyes up at the ceiling and tutted quietly, a smile on his lips. 

"Oh, shush." 

But as she proceeded to ask him about the details, and what he was planning to sing, all the while showering him with affectionate reassurance, Freddie felt himself relax in her presence once more. She was lovely, really, was Mary. She always seemed to know just the right thing to say, at the right time. It was hard to remember, all of a sudden, why he had been trying to avoid her so desperately in the first place. 

"Gosh," Mary gasped as she checked her watch. "I'm sorry, I have to run." 

When she quickly finished her coffee and got to her feet, Freddie followed suit. 

"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to keep you." 

"No, it's alright," She shook her head with a smile. "I just lost track of time." 

Freddie rushed ahead to hold the door open and they stepped outside together, falling into step with each other as they were headed in the same direction, toward the market and Biba respectively. It was easy to lose each other in the steady stream of people rushing the other way in the direction of the station, and so Mary hooked her arm through his and Freddie lay a hand on top of it, securing it there. 

"Will you come by tomorrow and let me know how it went?" 

"I will," Freddie promised, glancing down at her and wondering absently what they must look like to the people passing by. A fashionable, young couple walking down the street arm in arm, respectable and worthy of envy.

She _was_ very pretty, his not-so-imaginary pretend girlfriend. Elfin and sweet and beautiful. 

Freddie felt strangely pleased with himself. 

"Actually," The words left his mouth before he could give them a second thought, and even when he did, there was little he could see wrong with them. "I don't suppose you'd like to come with me later?"

Mary raised her eyebrows. "To the audition?" 

"Yes. If I don't have a soul to talk to I'm afraid I'll drive myself spare!" he laughed.

"Of course," Mary flashed him a bright smile. "I'd be happy to." 

"Lovely!" They came to a halt outside Biba and let go of each other. "I'll pick you up just after six then, shall I?" 

"Yes, that's... that's fine." 

Freddie leaned in for a brief hug and waved her goodbye with a smile, before he continued on his way to the market, his mood much improved. Yes, perhaps that was just the thing. To have someone in his corner, someone who believed in him as much as he desperately wanted to believe in himself. 

And seeing as his boyfriend and all his close friends were out of town, who better than Mary? If he was honest with himself, Freddie had to admit that he enjoyed Mary's attention. Enjoyed it more than he wanted to admit. The promise of romance was always enticing, especially when it was a nice idea to toy with that needn't become reality.

And toyed with it he had. Ever since they had first been introduced really. 

But especially on the night of his graduation, after not one but probably several too many drinks, when he had found himself slowly swaying to the music with his hands on her waist. Her arms around his shoulders, the tips of her fingers grazing the nape of his neck. Eyes roaming each other's faces. 

_Kiss her_ , his drunken mind had whispered. 

And there had been a moment when he had thought that he might. 

Of course he hadn't. 

He had gone home to Roger and directed those tender feelings where they belonged, laying the hazy memories of that night to rest. Until Thursday night the week before last, when she had sat on his bed, gazing at him in that same hopeful way. 

But thoughts were not a sin, he told himself as he avoided dwelling on it all too much, just as carefully as he had been avoiding seeing her this past week. 

\- - - 

They arrived at the Duke of Sussex with twenty minutes to spare. Which was surprising, given the amount of time Freddie had spent at home turning this way and that in front of the mirror, cursing his unruly hair, trying on accessories, tying a silk scarf around his neck, then loosely draping it around his neck instead, then leaving it altogether only to go through the same meticulous trial process with belts. In the end, he had settled on his black satin trousers, a matching black belt (which was Roger's), over one of his white shirts, his favourite white boots and the short fur jacket, even though he was roasting in it, but it tied the look together so well. 

Mary thought so, too. 

The pub was pretty deserted, it being a Monday night, and he'd announced his presence to the barman who had looked vaguely impressed with him for turning up and told him someone was going to come and get him shortly. And so Freddie had retreated to a table in the corner with Mary where he sat sipping his port and lemonade and fiddling with the rings on his fingers, wishing he hadn't run out of cigarettes earlier today. He was nodding along a little distractedly as she told him about the flatshare she was moving into next week and how reluctant her father was to let her go, but he was grateful for her grounding presence all the same. However, her words faded into the background when he caught sight of a shaggy-haired bloke making his way down from upstairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Freddie watched him walk up to the bar and speak to the barman, who nodded and pointed straight at their table. 

Freddie became acutely aware of how dry his mouth felt and quickly took a swig of his drink, even as the young bloke turned to look. 

Freddie flinched in surprise when soft, warm fingers suddenly closed around his hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. He turned to look at Mary and realised she had fallen silent. Her gaze was reassuring, an encouraging smile on her lips. 

"You'll do great," she told him quietly. 

Freddie returned the smile, pulled his hand away and downed the rest of his drink, before rising to his feet to greet the bloke who was now coming over to him. 

His name was Max. 

"Really glad you're here, mate, we weren't sure anyone was gonna turn up!" he joked, as they made their way up the stairs. 

"Well, you're in luck, because now no one else will have to," Freddie told him, covering with a display of outrageous confidence for the fact that he was short of breath with nerves. 

Max laughed and Freddie laughed louder, and cringed, pulling his lips over his teeth as they entered the private functions room above the pub. 

Greetings and handshakes were exchanged with the band's drummer, Roy, and the bassist whose name Freddie immediately forgot. God, they all looked very young, he thought. Younger than he was in any case.

"So where is it you're from, Freddie?" Roy asked, narrowing his eyes at him curiously. 

"London," Freddie replied, almost automatically. 

"Yeah, but... originally though."

Ah.

"I..." Freddie hesitated, trying to decide whether he should say India (the connotations of which he hated), Zanzibar or just lie, say he was born in London and be done with it. 

"Doesn't make a bloody difference, does it?" Max chuckled and elbowed his friend. "Come on, let's get on with this. I'm chuffed someone's actually here!" 

"Yeah, alright, I was just making conversation." 

"It's complicated," Freddie said, with a little flourish of his wrist. "I'm a citizen of the world, dear, and a London boy at heart."

All three of them turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. Freddie shrugged, in what he hoped was a confident, nonchalant manner. 

"Yeah," said Max, "wow. Far out. So, anyway... Let's do this. What shall we..." He looked from his bandmates to Freddie. "What do you wanna sing, mate?" 

"Whatever you want me to," Freddie replied, "Almost anything by the Beatles, if you like. Rain? Nowhere Man... or something else... Jailhouse Rock, People are Strange, Satisfaction-" 

"The Stones one?" the bassist asked. 

"Yes." 

"Oh, yeah, that's good, let's do that one," Max nodded and looked at his bandmates, who gave him the thumbs up.

 _Satisfaction_ it was. As the others took up their instruments, which were set up at one end of the room, Freddie familiarised himself with the microphone and tried to remind himself of the lyrics, which were suddenly a jumbled mess in his head. He didn't know the song _that_ terribly well. God, what had possessed him to offer it up? 

Roy counted them in and the band started playing. 

Freddie gripped the mic firmly, telling himself that this was no different than singing into his hairbrush at home, but the tightness in his chest knew otherwise. There was a noticeable tremble in his voice when he started singing, so awful and apparent to his own ears he immediately wished he could start over. Fucking hell, he knew he was better than this. He could feel their expectant eyes on him, all while he stared at the empty, musty functions room. Freddie closed his eyes. 

" _And I try, and I try, and I try_..." 

He really wanted to move, and at the same time felt rooted to the spot, crippled by uncertainty, every movement he made seemingly half-hearted and awkward as a result. God, he wasn't selling it, he wasn't selling it _at all_. The urge to make an impression finally overtaking apprehension, Freddie opened his eyes and yanked the mic from the stand. Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed that the cord was looped around it, and the stand promptly toppled over. 

"Shit-" 

Freddie instinctively went to catch it, but tripped over it instead. The platform boots were tremendously unhelpful in the matter. While he just about managed to keep his balance, in doing so, he stumbled backward and straight into the drum kit. The cymbal stand tipped sideways dangerously and he managed to catch it just in time. Everyone had stopped playing. Roy had also jumped to his feet, trying to save the cymbal. 

"Sorry," Freddie murmured, and turned to look at Max and the bassist, both of whom were gaping at him. 

"Shit, you alright there?" Max asked, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle. It set off the others, until they were all quietly snorting with laughter.

"Yes, I'm fine, sorry. Sorry."

Freddie picked up the mic stand and replaced the microphone, cheeks burning from sheer embarrassment, fervently wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

"Can- can we try that again?" 

"Sure," Max cleared his throat, trying to reign in his amusement. "Er, go on then.... Everyone good to go?" 

At least he made it to the end of the song the second time around. It was the only thing that could be said for it, Freddie thought. At least that. But much good it was, when his voice was all over the place and the whole display was at best, _at best_ , he thought, painfully mediocre. Shockingly, they had asked him if he'd like to have a crack at another song. Entirely convinced that they were, in fact, mocking him, Freddie declined and fled as fast as he could. 

Mary followed him out when he stormed past the table with a brusque 'let's go' and caught up to him halfway down the street to Waterloo Station. 

"Freddie!" She lay a hand on his arm just as the red light at the pedestrian crossing brought him to a halt. "What happened?" 

"What do you _think_ happened?! I fucked it up every which way!" he snapped, earning himself a dirty look from an older gentleman also waiting at the light beside them. "Sorry," Freddie sighed miserably, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "I just- god! What a _fucking_ waste of time."

"I'm sorry..." 

The lights turned green and Freddie marched on. 

"Yes, well, and _I_ 'm sorry you came, dear," he scoffed, and meant it, too. The fact that he had now embarrassed himself dreadfully not only in front of a bunch of nineteen-year-olds but also in front of her, well, that was just the cherry on top of the layer cake of failure that was his life. 

He slowed down and stopped beside the entrance to Waterloo Station, biting his lips. 

"So, are you catching the bus or..." 

"Freddie," Mary's voice was gentle, sympathetic. 

"Please, don't," he shook his head, not looking at her. "It's fine." 

"Yes, it is," She took his hand and squeezed it softly, just as she had done at the pub, and he finally looked at her then, surprised to find her eyes full of affection rather than disappointment or pity. "It's alright."

Everything inside him wanted to protest, because _of course_ it wasn't bloody alright! How could it be? If he couldn't even do _this_ , then what was the point...  
But something about the quiet kindness and calm she radiated, even in the face of his whirlwind of emotions, made the bitter words die on his lips. 

"Maybe you just haven't failed enough yet," said Mary. 

Freddie blinked at her and frowned. "What?" 

Releasing his hand, Mary gave a little shrug. "It's what my Nan used to say. She'd always say God has a way of testing us, so when it comes to the things we really want, he doesn't make it easy on the first try. That's how you find out if you really want something. Because if you do, you won't give up."

For a long moment, Freddie had no idea how to respond to that. 

"But I already know," he eventually said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know what I want."

Mary tilted her head to the side, holding his gaze. "Then don't give up." 

Freddie lifted his chin up stubbornly. "Well, I don't intend to." 

She smiled at him then, with her pink lips and her pale blue eyes, her face bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. 

"Good."

The next moment, she gasped at something in the distance, looking over his shoulder. "Oh! That's my bus. I have to go, I promised my father I'd be home for dinner all this week seeing as it's my last."

"Yes, you said-" 

Freddie had turned to look at the bus, which was fast approaching, and as he turned back to her, Mary had taken a step forward. She lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

_Oh._

"Bye, Freddie." 

"... Bye," he uttered belatedly, eyes following her when she ran for the bus. 

Freddie absently touched his cheek, not at all sure how he felt anymore, other than a great deal confused. But as he watched the number 40 bus to Fulham pull away and disappear around the corner, the urge to go and throw himself off Waterloo Bridge was fading.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say about two things:
> 
> 1) Did Freddie ever audition for any bands before he joined Ibex? Not that I know of. Could he have? Possibly, judging by the fact that he did audition for Sour Milk Sea, once he was already in Ibex. Anyway, the audition in this chapter is fictional. But there is a very interesting (in my opinion) inbetween period going from Freddie Bulsara the awkward college student who classmates and friends identified as quiet, having a mild lisp, prone to nervous giggling and even a "talentless drip" (Freddie Mercury the Biography, Laura Jackson) to Freddie Mercury the confident performer. Even Brian and Roger, as they stated in interviews many times, did not really take Freddie seriously as a singer for some time, not even after the formation of Queen. He wasn't a trained singer, and while he improved his vocal technique very quickly once he'd put his mind to it, Roger says he sounded more like an enthusiastic sheep (because of his strong vibrato) early on. As a performer myself, I know all too well what it's like when you can feel your potential, know what you're capable of, but it just won't translate into reality. Because you're nervous. Because you haven't practiced enough. Because you're just not sure of yourself. It's an awful, disheartening feeling, and it's what I wanted to portray in this chapter.
> 
> 2) Right, so. Regarding Freddie's sexuality and his relationship with Mary. I will absolutely not be engaging in any discussions about my portrayal of Freddie or his sexuality in the comments. In my personal opinion, informed by talking to my own gay male friends, my personal queer experiences and very interesting articles about self-identified gay men who sleep and fall in love with women (Google it), human sexuality is fluid. Romantic feelings are complicated. It's not as simple as black or white. That is my opinion, feel free to disagree, but I won't be debating it.
> 
> Thank you for coming to my TED talk. 😉


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> I've finally managed to finish this chapter, so here it is, coming to you as a bit of a Christmas present.  
> All of the locations and a lot of the people appearing in this chapter are real. Smile actually did tour Cornwall in July 1969, and Mike Grose later became Queen's first bassist. One time when Smile performed at PJ's, Mike had to stand in for Tim because Roger and Tim got in such a fight that Tim stormed out. True story. 
> 
> After the two very short chapters last week, this one is very long. It's also a bit of an uncomfortable chapter. It will make you cringe, not gonna lie. But I hope parts of it will also make you go aww... 
> 
> Enjoy!

\- - - 

Sitting on a railing outside a gothic church overlooking the small town of Lostwithiel and, in more immediate terms, the A390 to Liskeard (so the sign beside him informed him), Freddie absently smoothed out the paper bag which had contained his lunch-slash-dinner in the form of a pasty and folded it up as he watched the cars go by. He slipped the small folded paper square into his back pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, frowned at it, and put it back again. 

Perhaps not. Freddie sighed and rubbed a hand over the evening stubble on his chin. He was really just trying to pass the time, but spending the last hour in a car with two blokes who he could swear had gone through more than half a pack over the course of the drive had put him off smoking for now. They had done this with the windows closed because of the rain which had started in the early afternoon, and now the stink of cigarettes clung to his hair and clothes as if he had spent an entire night out in a dingy Soho back alley music club. It was a filthy habit anyway, all things considered. And Freddie had considered many things, following the atrocious audition on Monday. There was a new sense of purpose which had taken a hold of him. He found himself fiercely determined to do better, to succeed, even though at this moment he had no idea how to even begin. 

It was still drizzling, a spray of rain so fine it felt like he was sitting inside a cloud. Freddie ran a hand through his impossibly frizzy, damp hair. Thankfully there was not much of a chill to the rain with the mild summer temperatures. 

Still, he felt exhausted and grimy after close to seven hours spent partly in two different cars and a lorry, the latter being the longest drive he'd been on but luckily also the most pleasant. Mostly.   
Trust Freddie to find the only lorry driver in the country who enjoyed opera. He had spent the whole drive from the start of the M4 at the outskirts of London to Bristol listening to Radio 3 and to Bertie from Newcastle, a middle aged man with rosy cheeks and a strong Geordie accent who spoke so quickly Freddie struggled to understand at least half of what he was saying. But it didn't matter much because Bertie seemed to enjoy monologuing greatly and would have probably told Freddie all about his trip to Italy ten years ago, his poodle Duchess who he clearly missed something awful and his general disdain for Londoners whether Freddie was listening or not, in between asking the usual questions. Where was Freddie from? No, but where was he _really_ from? What was that part of the world like? Freddie kept his answers brief and mostly let the man talk, listening to the music more than the conversation. 

Toward the end of the journey, Bertie had finally fallen silent for a while. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Freddie, who had slouched down in his seat, conducted the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in their rendition of Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade with minute, fluid flicks of his wrist. Bertie had looked him up and down appraisingly, in a way that had made Freddie sit up straighter under the scrutiny and fold his hand away self-consciously. And then, the man had uttered something Freddie hadn't been able to make out. Freddie, who had slipped into a habit of smiling and nodding rather than asking Bertie to repeat himself, had done just that. Bertie had looked surprised, even pleased, perhaps, and sized him up again, looking back and forth between Freddie and the road. A smirk curling the sides of his mouth and an eyebrow raised. 

"Dolly basket," he'd muttered under his breath, and even though Freddie hadn't had the first clue what that was supposed to mean it hadn't felt like the sort of thing he could just smile and nod about.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry? Come again?"

After a moment's hesitation, Bertie had just shaken his head and tutted quietly. "Divvint worry abyeut it." 

Bertie had laughed. Freddie had, too, because he'd had no idea what was going on but for some reason he had no longer felt particularly at ease. 

He frowned as it came back to him while he sat on the railing, looking out for a blue BMC van. Smile were playing down in Falmouth this afternoon, and so Roger's friend Mike was picking Freddie up. Mike co-owned PJ's, Truro's most popular music venue. Freddie had met him last time he'd visited, and had rung PJ's from a telephone box about half an hour ago to let Mike know he'd made it as far as... Whatever this town was called again. Freddie realised that he had clean forgotten. 

As he waited, his mind wandered back to Roger and he couldn't suppress a smile, all discomfort and tiredness waning with the knowledge that he would see him again soon. Had it really been less than two weeks since he had seen him last? It felt longer. 

Right now, Freddie could hardly wait.

\- - - 

"Fuck!"

The stick flew across the pavilion and bounced off of one of the pillars. It wasn't quite as cathartic as Roger had hoped for, and so he kicked the drum throne over for good measure. Brian turned his head sharply to look at him and Tim rolled his eyes. Roger turned to them, throwing his arms out. 

"Well, that was fucking _shit_ , wasn't it!" 

"Yes, well," Brian closed his guitar case and reached for a cable to start coiling it up. "You go right ahead and chuck your toys out the bloody pram then while the rest of us pack up."

"Yeah, well, _fuck you_ , Brian." 

This earned him a dry, patronising laugh and a shake of the head. Roger had a mind to hurl the floor tom in Brian's general direction. 

"He's not the one who started us off with the wrong fucking song," Tim muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. 

And it was true, that was the worst part. The fact that they were playing at the Princess Pavilion, in the open air, and it had been drizzling on and off, had done them no favours. But after the momentary confusion at the start it had just been gaffe after gaffe and nothing had really come together in front of the dwindling crowd, many of whom seemed to decide halfway through that they had better and drier places to be.

"Maybe next time," Roger shot back, pointing the drumstick he hadn't yet sent flying at Tim, "we shouldn't change the fucking order of _everything_ a fucking half hour before the gig!"

"Oh, come off it," Brian snorted, "we talked about changing the setlist last night."

"No, we didn't! _We_ didn't!" Roger growled, glaring at him. "You and Tim probably did, as always-"

"Yes, we bloody well did and you were there!" Tim cut in. "It was right before you decided to pick a fight with those skinheads and we had to drag your shit-faced arse out of the pub! So if you don't remember, sorry, but that's hardly our fault, is it now!"

Roger stared at him, quietly seething, hand balled into a tight, painful fists around his drumstick because after playing three nights in a row following the rehearsal sessions at the start of the week, he'd acquired a number of blisters. Not that he cared at this minute. The tempation to walk over and sock Tim in the face was strong. It didn't matter that a part of him knew Tim was right. Again. That only made it worse.

But instead, Roger did the mature thing. He angrily hurled his stick to the ground, spat a vicious 'fucking wankers' in his bandmates' general direction and stormed off. 

It wasn't until he was tucked away next to the bins behind the restaurant, smoking his second cigarette, when his heart had finally stopped hammering with rage. 

The week hadn't started off so bad. Once Brian, Tim and Pete had arrived and the rest of their entourage had slowly come trickling in from all directions, being around his friends and practicing with the band had provided a much needed escape from spending time at home. Originally, the plan had been for Pete to stay with Roger, but instead he had ended up staying at Pat's house with Brian because her parents were away on holiday. Pete had lucked out, because now that Chrissie and her friend Jen had arrived, Brian and the two girls were going to stay in the basement flat of Mike's friend's house, right by the cathedral, which he usually rented out to tourists but had agreed to give them for cheap. Roger had been relieved, if he was honest, that he wouldn't have to bring anyone to his parents' house after all. Because no day went by without his father's sullen silence and biting remarks, never permitting any of them to emerge from that stifling sense of gloom. It was utterly oppressive and Roger knew it was all his fault, because just this once he refused to give in and play happy family. Pretend everything was _fine_. And so his father played the martyr and wasted no opportunity to take a dig at him for being such a selfish, needlessly resentful, stubborn brat who had no regard for everything he had been given in life. It was a grim stalemate, and the worst part was that his mother was caught in the middle of it, trying to keep a delicate peace on a battlefield strewn with rotting corpses. 

Much as his busy life outside his parents' home was a welcome distraction at first, the insurmountable frustration and anger he felt had soon bled into everything, metastasising like a cancer. He couldn't concentrate and everything seemed to rub him the wrong way, from offhand comments about his hair, innocent and not maliciously intended, to what an annoyingly great time everyone else seemed to be having. And if just one more person asked him if he was alright, just one more fucking time, he couldn't say with certainty that he wouldn't yell at them to just bloody leave him be. 

It wasn't like him at all. He wasn't _like_ this. Never had been the type to sit in a corner sulking while others were having fun. So he had leant heavily on the crutch booze provided, which was easily done when every night felt like a party with a crowd of friends around. One more pint, chasing an easy high, until it was too much and his mind was too hazy, incapable of keeping the frustration inside him at bay. It wasn't ideal and Tim was right, they had saved him from getting his face rearranged last night in the fucking backwater hole that was Bodmin, of all places.

Maybe today's shambles of a show _was_ on him, Roger thought, arms crossed tightly around his chest as he extinguished the butt of his cigarette on the ground with his heel. Because apart from hung over, he was also extremely anxious about the fact that it was Thursday. Which meant Freddie was coming to Truro. He was probably already there now, waiting for them at PJ's. It wasn't that Roger hadn't missed him or didn't want to see him. He had and he did, very much so. In fact, nothing sounded better right now than to leave all this behind and to be back in their little attic flat, safe from the rest of the world, just Freddie and him. But it wasn't going to be like that. And the idea of having Freddie around at home, of inevitably having to talk about why he was being such a miserably cunt and about what the fuck he had done to his hair, the thought of what his father might say in front of Freddie - it all tied his stomach in knots. 

In fact, it sort of made him wish Freddie wasn't coming at all.

By the time Roger finally made his way back to the pavilion, all the gear apart from his kit was gone, leaving him to get it back to the van by himself. Tim, Brian, Pete and the girls were probably sat at the bar having drinks and talking about what an arse he was. Roger snorted at the thought, sighed, and got on with it. 

In all honesty, it wasn't as if he could really blame them. 

\- - - 

PJ's was a really happening venue, especially for a small town like Truro. Located in a derelict part of town, it was like an oasis of electric excitement, pulsing with youthful energy, in the middle of what could have passed for a dystopian post-apocalyptic wasteland of half-demolished buildings. The obvious upside to its location, apart from the cool-factor, was that there wasn't anyone to complain about the noise nearby. The lower floor had a coffee and griddle bar, as well as a pool table, and the stage was upstairs with a dance floor and seating around the edges. The wood panelled wall beside the dance floor sported a large mural of Jimi Hendrix. The whole place was, in one word, groovy.

"I give up!" Freddie exclaimed, throwing his arms up into the air to much good-natured laughter and handing the pool cue back over to Mike. He rolled his eyes at himself with a smile and sidled up to Sue and Pat, a pair of girls who seemed to know both Mike and Roger pretty well. "Would either one of you ladies like to have a go instead? I don't think I can bear making more of a fool of myself tonight!"

The girls laughed.

"Don't mind if I do," Sue tugged at a tightly curled ringlet of her impressive shock of black hair, pursed her ruby red lips and made her way over to the pool table, waggling her eyebrows at Mike, who had just sunk a ball.

"Oi, that's not fair!" Mike exclaimed in fake outrage. "She's a whizz, that one! You don't even know!"

Freddie guffawed, throwing his head back, before he quickly remembered to cover his mouth. "I chose wisely then."

"So who all is coming to Newquay tomorrow for a swim?" Pat asked into the round.

A lot of hands went up, accompanied by shouts of 'yeah!' and 'not if the weather's shite!'. A brief discussion broke out about who was going to ride in whose car. Not for the first time, a couple of people commented on the fact that Roger and the others still hadn't turned up even though their gig in Falmouth must have ended ages ago. Pat turned to Freddie.

"Where are you staying tonight?"

"Er," Freddie shrugged and took a small sip of his coke. "With Roger, I believe."

"Right, of course, you share a place in London, don't you?"

Freddie nodded.

"That's good," Pat smiled at him, "I was just asking because I'll have a spare sofa bed now since Brian-"

"There they are!" Mike suddenly exclaimed. Everyone's heads turned in the direction of the door, through which Brian had just stepped, hang in hand with Chrissie, followed by Tim and Anne, Anne's twin sister and Chrissie's friend. 

"Speak of the devil," Pat waved, as did the others. Freddie craned his neck, peering through the crowd until he caught sight of Roger, who brought up the rear. Freddie almost did a double take and the smile on his face slipped a little out of sheer surprise. What in the world had he done to his hair? 

As Smile and Co. approached the pool table, Freddie put his glass down and moved forward, but everyone was milling about now, exchanging greetings and hugs, and inadvertently blocking his way. Roger acknowledged him through the crowd with the briefest of glances, and turned to talk to Mike before Freddie could so much as smile at him. 

Freddie felt a pang of disappointment, taken off guard by the complete lack of a reaction to his presence. 

But no, he thought, scrambling for an explanation. That was fair enough. They weren't going to make a spectacle of themselves after all and run into each other's arms.   
Still, he had just hitch-hiked all the way up from London and spent two hours hanging around with Roger's friends, waiting for him. A part of him could not help but feel upset at being passed over like this.   
His attention remained on the blond drummer, just a few feet away, while Tim and Anne appeared beside him.

"Hey Freddie, you made it here alright then?"

"Oh, hello Tim," Freddie looked from his college friend, who had a pretty exhausted and perhaps a little peeved look on his face, to his girlfriend, "hello, darling... Yes, without a hitch... well! Hah! No pun intended-"

"...absolute fucking worst..." Roger was saying to Mike.

"Shit, I'm sorry..."

"Freddie!" Brian came up and leaned down to give him a hug.

"...chance of a real drink?" Roger's voice, just to the side of him.

"How are you, dear?" Freddie asked, focusing his attention on the guitarist, who exchanged a look with Tim.

"Yeah, we're... um..." Brian cast a sideways glance in Roger's direction and then patted Freddie's arm. "Glad you're here, really."

Freddie chuckled and wondered what that was all about, although when his eyes also wandered in Roger's direction he noticed that Mike had disappeared to somewhere. Roger caught his eye, and Freddie was about to move, but was stopped by Brian.

"Oh! Did you go to that audition?"

"I- no, I mean- yes. But- I'll tell you in a bit," Freddie stammered quickly, even as he turned away and took a step toward his boyfriend.

His _boyfriend_. It felt strange, at this moment, thinking of Roger in those terms. When he didn't feel like they could so much as hug, even though he was fully aware that he had just hugged Brian. But that was different. 

Freddie preferred for Roger to be his boyfriend behind closed doors. He could just about wrap his mind around it, away from the outside world. However, when the two worlds collided, the idea still seemed so mad. 

And yet, a pleasant warmth filled his chest and radiated out to his whole self as Roger closed the distance between them and they came face to face with each other. 

"Hello, stranger." There was no hope of fighing the wide, goofy smile on his lips, even though Freddie tried to reign it in. Tired and a little glum as he seemed, Roger smiled back. 

"Hey," he rasped, briefly looking Freddie up and down in a way that sent a shiver down his spine and left his mouth feeling dry, all of a sudden.

"Goodness," Freddie chuckled and raised an eyebrow, giving his hair an appraising look. "Did you lose a bet, dear?"

The smile dropped off of Roger's face. He scoffed and looked away, trying to brush a few strands behind his ear. "Yeah, right. Good to see you, too."

"I- I'm only joking," Freddie murmured meekly, thrown by the reaction to his attempt at their usual banter. 

"It's hair, it'll grow back, okay?"

" _Okay_ ," Freddie retorted, put out by Roger's tone and now eyeing him with a slightly guarded expression.

Roger glanced up at him and sighed, shuffling his feet. "So you made it down here alright?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Freddie heard himself say, and he didn't want to sound so snide, but it was late, he was exhausted and after he had done nothing but look forward to seeing Roger all day, the way he was acting was rubbing him entirely the wrong way.

The younger man's eyes narrowed and a crease formed between his brows. "Sorry I asked. Jesus."

Freddie stared back at him, caught speechless for a moment between sheer disbelief and rising anger. This was not _at all_ what he had expected, not _at all_ how this moment was supposed to go.

Just then, Mike returned, placing a glass in Roger's hand.

"Your special coke, good sir." He tapped his nose. Roger gave him a lopsided smile and took a sip.

"Thanks, mate."

"D'you want one, Freddie?" Mike asked.

PJ's didn't have a licence. But from his previous visit Freddie knew that if you were friends with the co-owner, that didn't mean much.

"I... yes," he said, even though he didn't particularly fancy a drink. He just wanted Mike to go away again for a moment. "thank you, dear."

Roger was digging out his cigarettes and offered Freddie one as Mike walked away again. Freddie opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head.

"No, it's alright, I really shouldn't."

"The fuck do you mean?" Roger's frown deepened.

"I mean, it's not very good for my voice," Freddie had no idea why he had chosen that exact moment to share his concerns about the amount of cigarettes they had fallen into a habit of smoking together, perhaps it was the fact that he felt like being contrary if Roger was going to act like a prick for no reason.

Roger snorted. "Okay? Not like that's stopped you before."

"Well, maybe it should." 

"... Okay then." 

"Don't look at me like that," Freddie propped his hand up on his waist, flicking his hair out of his face. "I barely ever used to smoke before we set up shop together."

Roger's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry, what?" 

"Well, I mean-" 

"Are you saying it's _my_ fault you smoke?"

Freddie stared him down, chin stuck out. "I'm saying you might have something to do with it, is that so ridiculous?" 

"You know-" Roger started hotly, and bit his tongue, casting his eyes up to the ceiling.

"What." Freddie said sharply, daring him to say whatever he hadn't. 

It did the trick.

"There's a whole lot of things _I_ never used to do before I met you," Roger uttered in a low voice, and took another sip of his drink as though he hadn't just casually compared their entire relationship to a filthy habit. 

Freddie's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, the hurt in his eyes only disguised by the anger burning in them. But before he could respond, Mike was back with his drink. Muttering a curt 'thank you' Freddie took it off him, turned on his heel and marched to the other side of the pool table, gripping his drink tightly because his hands were shaking with emotion. And there he stood, beside Anne's sister Helen, who was talking to Tim, Anne and Sue, except he couldn't take in a single word anyone was saying. It took him all of three seconds before he turned back around, determined to storm back over and quite possibly throw his drink in Roger's face. But Roger had followed him and they came up against each other halfway, chest to chest.   
Freddie glared at him, afraid to blink, because he could feel tears burning behind his eyes.

"Freddie-"

"No, shut your mouth," he hissed quietly, very aware of everyone who might overhear them. "I've no idea what's going on with you but I won't be spoken to like this."

Roger lifted an eyebrow. "My apologies, _your highness_."

"Fuck you," Freddie's voice broke, a lump in his throat the size of a cricket ball. 

Roger said nothing. He just took a drag from his cigarette and stared back at him for a long moment, then ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes. 

"Let's just..." His voice was hollow when he started speaking again, his expression cycling through dismay and anger before he simply hung his head, dejected. "Let's just go, please, let's go back to mine-" He reached for Freddie's arm and Freddie jerked back, putting a bit of distance between them.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." 

"Oh, for fuck's-" Roger laughed mirthlessly and took another long, frustrated drag. "You're obviously not gonna sleep in the street, so-"

"Actually, I think I'll stay with Pat," Freddie informed him.

Roger cocked his head, looking at him as if he had lost his mind. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No."

There was beat.

"Fine." Roger's eyes turned icy. "Fine by me."

He proceeded to down most of his drink and slammed the glass down on the edge of the pool table. Freddie was uncomfortably aware of a few heads turning, even as Roger backed away from him, hands held up as though to say 'I'm done here', before he turned to go. Freddie looked on as he shouldered his way through the crowd, pushed the door open and disappeared out of sight.

"Uh, what just happened?" Someone asked behind him, amidst shrugs and whispers. 

Freddie stared at the door. There was a strange, numb feeling inside his chest, as if his heart had stopped, except he knew it hadn't, because he was breathing still. 

"Fred."

Freddie chewed his lips, not wanting to look up at Brian, who had come up beside him, and instead lowered his eyes to the floor.

"It's not you," Brian said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Something's up. I was hoping you... well..."

Freddie just shook his head, staring down into his drink.

"You alright?" Brian asked quietly.

Freddie swallowed and nodded, forcing the lump in his throat down, forcing himself to take another deep breath. "Mhm, yeah. Fine."

\- - - 

He'd done it.

He'd really done it now.

The small streets of Truro felt like an unreal blur, quiet houses and cobblestone streets. So old and familiar and yet so alien. He didn't belong here, not anymore. He didn't know where he belonged anymore. Not with Freddie, that was for certain. He'd fucked that up royally, hadn't he. 

Roger's fingers tighetened around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and he pulled it out on a whim, half intending to have what would probably be his third fag in the space of half an hour and half thinking back on Freddie's words. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he'd crumpled the nearly empty pack up in his hand, rendering the contents useless.

"Fuck," he breathed, mirthlessly laughing at himself as he tossed the ruined pack into an alleyway and continued on his way home, trying not to think of Freddie and failing miserably. 

It couldn't have gone any worse. He couldn't have been any more of a tosser. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

'You're just like him', a small voice whispered and Roger wanted to scream and drive his fist through the nearest wall.

The key didn't seem to fit into the front door, until it did. The telly was on, illuminating the living room and his father, who refused to so much as glance at him, whiskey in his hand. Roger made his way up the stairs and slammed the door to his room shut, lowering himself onto the bed. 

There was a soft knock on the door after a few minutes. "Roger?" 

"What, mum?" Roger called back, head in his hands. 

Half a minute or so ticked by in silence.

"There's dinner in the oven, if you're hungry." 

Roger closed his eyes. For just a moment, he had thought - perhaps even hoped - that she might ask him if he was alright. 

"Okay, thanks." 

He could hear the floorboards creak outside as she walked away, over the droning of the television downstairs. 

\- - - 

Freddie firmly placed his drink down on the table. "And after I came all this way!"

"You certainly did," Brian nodded, arms folded atop the table.

"Just to see him! You, I mean, you... all," Freddie quickly corrected himself, waving a hand in Brian's general direction. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this, darling, I'm really sorry. I'm really very, very sorry."

Good god, but those rum and coke mixers Mike was whipping up were strong.

"Don't worry about it," The guitarist flashed him a crooked smile. "It's not easy."

"I'll drink to that," Freddie snorted and took a sip, then paused and eyed Brian suspiciously. "What isn't?" 

"What?" 

"You said _it_ isn't easy?" 

"Oh, um." Brian ruffled his hair, looking down at the table. "You know. Relationships." 

"Ah," Freddie tapped his fingers against his glass, also suddenly acquiring a great deal of interest in the table top. 

Tim unwittingly came to the rescue. 

"Everyone's heading out soon," he told them, leaning on their table. "What are you two gossiping about?" 

"Your pillock of a drummer, darling," Freddie told him glibly. 

Tim snorted.

\- - - 

"Roger," Clare's voice stopped him halfway down the stairs, his duffle bag around his shoulder. He turned back and looked up toward her, but couldn't bear to meet her bright eyes, peering down at him through the darkness. 

"I'm sorry."

"Where are you going?" she whispered. 

Roger turned away, his shoulders as heavy as his heart. 

"Friend's house..."

'I'm sorry I'm no use. I'm sorry for making everything worse.' 

"Tell mum I'll be back in a few days," he murmured, and quietly continued down the stairs. 

\- - - 

It wasn't until he was at Pat's house, until Pat and Pete had both gone to bed, and Freddie had showered and changed into his pyjamas, sitting on the sofa bed in the living room. Combing his fingers through his damp hair by the dim light of the large floor lamp in the corner, sobered up and utterly exhausted. It wasn't until then that the night's events finally truly began to catch up with him. It was then that he realised just how lost and out of place he felt.

What was he _doing_ here? So far away from London? Following Roger around like a devout girlfriend, as if he didn't have his own life waiting for him. When it didn't feel like Roger even wanted him here in the first place. Of course he had realised, after talking to Brian, that there was probably a whole lot more to it. And he knew, of course he knew that whatever was going on with Roger, it probably had everything to do with his family and little to do with Freddie, but was that any excuse-

A sudden noise tore him from his thoughts and almost made him jump out of his skin. Freddie turned his head sharply toward the bay window, eyes wide. Reasoning away his fear (surely a burgler wouldn't knock), Freddie stood up, staring at the curtains which obscured the window from view. The knock repeated itself, quiet but insistent.

Freddie slowly approached the bay window and knelt on the seats which lined the windows, hesitating just a moment before he drew the curtain back. 

His heart gave a little leap. 

Roger pressed his palm to the window pane, staring up at him with large, pleading eyes. 

Freddie looked at him for a long moment, and unceremoniously drew the curtain shut, turning his back to the window and plopping down onto the seat, arms crossed. 

There was another gentle knock, then he heard his name and what sounded like 'please', barely audible through the window. 

Silence followed. 

After a couple of minutes, Freddie very slowly turned back over his shoulder and pulled one side of the curtain back. Roger's eyes snapped up to him and he pressed his palms together in front of his chest. Freddie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and was about to let the curtain fall back in place when Roger leaned in and breathed against the window pane. He proceeded to draw a heart on the fogged up glass. 

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Really." 

Roger shrugged helplessly and wiped the window clean. Then he quickly leaned in and breathed on the window again. Freddie watched him draw a dick and promptly snorted with laughter despite himself. Roger was now smirking sheepishly at him. The bastard. Freddie bit back a grin.

Eventually, not without a dramatic sigh, Freddie climbed back up on the seat, onto his knees, and looked for the handle. A mild breeze of summer night air enveloped him as he opened the window. 

"Hello again," said Freddie. 

"Hi," whispered Roger, casting a glance around the living room and then up at him. "Can I please come in?"

"I don't know," Freddie muttered, inspecting his nails. 

"I'm sorry," the younger man shuffled his feet and looked around. "I'll sleep out here if you don't let me in. I'm serious."

Instead of a reply, Freddie tutted and released the handle, leaving the window open as he returned to the sofa bed and lowered himself onto it, one leg crossed over the other.   
He watched Roger pull himself up and climb inside, dropping his duffle bag on the seats. Then he sat down beside it, cautiously watching Freddie from across the room.

"I'm sorry."

"So you said."

Roger ran his hands over his face and rose to his feet. Freddie tensed when he approached him and carefully sat down beside him.

"I think I just ran away from home," he said quietly, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. "I wanted to. A couple of times. When I was little... but I never did. Better late than never, I guess." He glanced up at Freddie. "I'm... I'm sorry. I just..." He shook his head, searching for words that wouldn't come. "I'm not okay." 

"Darling," Freddie's resolve to remain furious with Roger broke like a sheet of ice, crushed under the weight of empathy and genuine love. His fingers found their way onto Roger's thigh, and that was all it took. 

Roger's hand found his and closed around it tightly, blue eyes gazing up at him in the dim light. The younger man leaned into him, turning his face into the crook of his neck, pulling his hand against his chest as he held it tightly in both of his and Freddie sighed and put his arm around him. 

"What happened?" he asked quietly, leaning his cheek against the top of Roger's head. 

"You smell nice," Roger whispered against his neck and lifted one hand up, stroking the other side of Freddie's neck with his fingertips. Warm lips pressed against Freddie's skin, making him shiver pleasantly. 

"Roger..." 

He wasn't sure what he wanted to say exactly. 'No. Wait. Tell me what's going on. Talk to me.' But before he could quite find the words, the younger man lifted his head and tenderly brushed their lips together. 

Even as he felt his pulse quicken, Freddie thought of the unlocked door to the living room, the fact that not one, but two of their friends were just upstairs. If anyone had heard something and decided to investigate... 

"I've missed you," Roger breathed, and brought his free hand up to cup Freddie's cheek, leaning into another kiss, tongue sliding past his lips and licking deep into his mouth. 

Freddie moaned quietly against him. Oh god, but it felt so good. He'd missed him, too. So much. 

They kissed, deeply and passionately, until they were both out of breath, and then they kissed some more. One of Roger's hands was on his waist now, under the hem of his shirt, fingers stroking his side lightly. 

"I'm so sorry," Roger whispered as they broke apart for a moment, "Fred, I'm sorry... I love you... I love you so much..." 

The desperation in his voice pierced Freddie's heart and melted any resentment left in it. 

"Rog..."

His fingers snaked their way into dark blond hair even as Roger kicked off his shoes and they tumbled onto the sofa bed, chasing each others lips again, hips rocking against each other. Pinned beneath the younger man's weight, Freddie pulled his legs up around Roger's hips, head dropping back when the other's eager mouth found his throat again. Roger's hand had snaked its way up the side of his body to his chest and he thumbed his nipple roughly. Freddie involuntarily arched into the touch, fingers tightening around a fistful of Roger's hair as the other man rubbed back and forth over the sensitive nub.

"Oh god..." 

"Yeah," Roger breathed against his neck, rucking up his shirt while he shifted down lower. His tongue and teeth found Freddie's other nipple and elicited a series of gasps and quiet whimpers, much as Freddie was trying to contain them. 

Surely the sheer risk of the situation should have made him want to stop. But instead he was so hard it hurt, hips bucking up against Roger's warm body of their own accord, searching for friction. 

Roger released his nipple from between his teeth and crashed their lips back together, swallowing his moan when his hand slipped inside Freddie's pyjama bottoms. The pace he set was rough and fast, almost rushed. Freddie whined against his lips, throwing one leg up onto the back of the sofa while his hand found Roger's wrist, slowing him down a little. _Ohgodyes_ , that was fucking perfect. 

"Fuck, yeahmmnh..." 

Roger's lips never broke away from his for long, silencing him as he quickly drove him closer to the edge. All while Freddie fumbled with the button and zip of Roger's jeans, though by the time he had them undone he was so close he could hardly focus on anything else. His hand tightened around Roger's wrist, craving that fast pace now, needing it bad when he was so very nearly there. It didn't take much longer before he moaned into Roger's mouth and came, shuddering and clinging on to him tightly while Roger pumped him through it. 

"Ah, stop," Freddie gasped, turning his head to the side to break the kiss. "Shit..." His breathing was coming in short gasps, his mind was hazy, but even so he immediately realised that there was nothing to hand to contain the mess on his stomach. "Shit, the sheets." 

Roger wiped his hand on his jeans, kneeling above him, and stared down at Freddie's exposed abdomen, streaked with come. Freddie was about to hiss at him to go get a tissue or _some_ thing before Roger suddenly leaned down. Freddie blinked and forgot to breathe, watching him with wide eyes as he lapped up some of the mess before it could run down his side. And then, he just continued, running his tongue over him a few more times as Freddie squirmed from the ticklish sensation and gave a quiet gasp when Roger's hot tongue brushed the tip of his cock in passing. 

The fair-haired man sat back on his heels, wordlessly wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Freddie was up on his knees in seconds, grabbing handfulls of his shirt as he pulled him into a kiss. 

"Did you like that?" Roger whispered, brushing the tips of their noses together, a smirk on his lips. 

"You're outrageous," Freddie told him, hands in his hair as he kissed his lips, his cheek, his jaw. They pulled back to look at each other in the dim light and Freddie's hand found the waistband of Roger's briefs, pulling them down. Roger slid an arm around him and hugged him close, eyes falling shut when Freddie took him in his hand.   
His head on Roger's shoulder, Freddie breathed him in deeply as he brushed his lips along his neck and left a trail of kisses there, working his fingers over the head of his cock in firm strokes. Roger's fingers ghosted over his shoulder and raked through his hair as he hummed in approval. 

A few minutes passed before Freddie hesitantly lifted his head, questioningly looking up at Roger, who had gone very quiet. "... Rog?"

Roger shook his head a little, eyes screwed shut and biting down on his lips in what looked like intense concentration. 

"Darling-"

"Fuck's sake," Roger opened his eyes and abruptly pushed Freddie's hand away. "Just forget it." He all but elbowed Freddie away, pulling his jeans and underwear back up over his semi-hard dick. 

"Sorry," Freddie offered quietly, cautiously watching him, feeling a bit awkward and unsure of what else to say. Well then. That was a first. 

" _Jesus_ ," Roger groaned and hid his face in his hands. "it's not... I just..." He sighed, dismayed, and dropped his head back onto the back rest. "I'm sorry." 

"No," Freddie murmured softly, nuzzling his cheek. "Don't..." 

"I can't fucking get out of my head," Roger whispered miserably. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ." 

"Okay," Freddie sighed, reaching for the quilt which was draped over the armrest of the sofa and pulling it over them both. "Okay..." he whispered and wrapped his arms around Roger tightly, nestling his head back down on his shoulder. One of his hands coming up to rest on Roger's chest, over his heart, as he gently uttered just one word. 

"Talk." 

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> \- the lorry driver spoke Polari to Freddie (obviously picking up on his very gay vibe and trying to suss him out), it's a slang language used originally by sailors and artists in olden days and adopted by gay people before the legalisation of homosexual relationship in order to flirt in public. After being gay was legalised in '67, the use of Polari declined, of course, but Bertie is old enough to be very familiar with it. 'Dolly basket' means 'nice package'. 
> 
> \- this chapter is almost like a long exposition to a whole lot of action that is going to take place over several of the following chapters, a lot is going on internally with both Fred and Rog and it's all going somewhere, trust me
> 
> \- last but not least, now is your last chance to [vote for your favourite fanfics in the Queen fandom in 2019!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSd0Dka5leZbmc5yNRlttGND1nAg0kRovJE5OjJIEqP_9KqWpA/viewform) I'm not just being self-serving here, I genuinely think that if you enjoyed a story particularly then by all means, nominate it! Any author would be incredibly pleased to be acknowledged!
> 
> And finally, I am taking a family holiday break from writing and will be back with the next chapter on the 12th of January.
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for sticking with me this whole year. It has been absolutely amazing! I can't tell you how happy I feel to have such wonderful readers. 💕❤️💖

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Anniversary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352084) by [trixie_b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixie_b/pseuds/trixie_b)




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